


Death and the Dancing Dean

by ElectraRhodes



Series: Delighting in Your Radiance 2017 [9]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bit of Morse and Peter Whimsy type shenanigans, Case Fic, Hannigram - Freeform, I Spelled Wimsey Wrong GHM, Intrigue, M/M, Mischa Lives, Murder Mystery, Oxford, Priest Hannibal, Serial Killer, Theology, college politics, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: The Rev. Dr. Hannibal Lecter, visiting Chair in Theology finds himself caught in a most undignified battle over some ill considered remarks in a journal. When the argument unexpectedly escalates and impacts his burgeoning relationship with the hottest theologian on the block he is both frustrated and miserable. But when it spills over into first one murder and then another Hannibal will do anything to save his friend and putative lover, even if it costs him his job and his reputation.Hannigram Oxford Style! (Double Entendre absolutely intentional.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purplesocrates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesocrates/gifts).



> The ninth of fifteen new stories for those wonderful people who backed the Radiance Kickstarter 'Delight' Level. Thank you.
> 
> Based off a wonderful prompt from PurpleSocrates.

Hannibal Lecter glances up from his notes and looks around the lecture theatre. He crinkles his eyes in a smile. A number of his students have recording devices out, well, cell phones probably, and a few of them are making full recordings rather than simply opting for sound. Almost certainly he’ll end up on You Tube later on. He spots Alana Bloom on one side of the tiered benches, and Frederick Chilton a little further behind her. On the other side of the room he can see both Dr Du Maurier and the Dean of St Frideswide's College Dr Sutcliffe, neither of them making any pretence at taking notes, just there for the show.

It’s considerate, he thinks, for so many of his colleagues to attend. Though perhaps he feels just the faintest bit disappointed that there is no sign of Dr Graham. Ahh well. Can’t be helped. There are only so many hints you can drop about such things before simply being rude.

He gears himself up for the final paragraph of his paper and holds up a single trademark finger as thought to emphasise the point. He smiles again and there is a warm laugh around the room. He is beginning to be known and liked here.

“So. We can see the religious expressions of the first decade of the 21st Century in one of three ways. Firstly, we might see the utilization of the conservative Christian theological literacies of Lewis and his Inkling friends as a way to compose a purposeful narrative framework; or, we might consider Rowling's activity as a theosophical palimpsest that has both described and driven the discourse..”

He looks around again and smiles even further, sure of their attention now,

“..What we might consider to be Magic and the Decline of Religion..”

There’s further laughter as he plays with the title of a popular and populist book on religious and theological exposition that covers the period from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance,

“Or we might find some solace in the theonomies of Pullman, all ashes to ashes, and, if you’ll forgive me, dust to dust.”

Even Dr Du Maurier smiles at that one. And she’s a notoriously hard nut to crack. He carries on, perhaps emboldened further.

“Whichever articulation we cling to, what we’re left with is far short of a blue-print for spiritual exposition in a Post-post religious world.”

He warms to his central thesis and the single finger is more emphatic as he thrusts it forwards and even wags it a little,

“What we can say, is that God may still be wondering who to drop a church roof on next week, irrespective of our speculations.”

He pauses again,

“And according to some at least, we are not all made in gods’ image.” He waits a beat. “All of them. And this world, this culmination, we might say, is not their design.”

There’s a small pause, then a gasp at the trademark mic-drop, how very un-conservative and non-traditional of Dr Lecter to go so far! And then there is considerable applause, both sincere and forceful from the two hundred or so students attending. And Hannibal was right in his surmising, it’s already being uploaded to You Tube.

He smiles at the group and steps back from the lectern and takes a small bow. Of course there will be a few well-wishers so he steps to one side to catch some comments and questions as students and other lecturers and colleagues gather their belongings ready to depart.

Ahh yes, Franklyn and his glowering friend. Hannibal handles the interaction with aplomb. There are a few obsequious remarks from Frederick Chilton, and they’re only to be expected from a colleague who is both fawning and envious. There is a sweet comment from Dr Bloom, it’s not quite her area of expertise but he appreciates the support and flirts with her gently. Her face flushes to match her name.

Of course Dr Du Maurier has some intelligent things to say, but nothing he can’t handle. He wishes again that Will Graham had attended, it’s certain he would have some interesting insight to offer and maybe some difficult questions to parse.

The room gradually clears and eventually the Dean makes his way to Hannibal’s side.

“Nicely done Hannibal. Just enough for the old school, something for the post-modernists, lots for the angry snow-flakes and something, quite a lot of something for the serious theologians. Well done. I think that has firmly cemented the position.”

Hannibal gives a small bow, He and Donald go a fair way back, and really he had been instrumental in getting Hannibal over to Oxford for the temporary Chair.

“I’m off to the SCR. Are you joining me for lunch Hannibal?”

Hannibal smiles at his old friend, wondering, not for the first time if Donald might be carrying a small torch for him.

“I’ll just drop my things in my room. And I’ll be along after you.”

Donald claps him lightly on the arm before leaving and Hannibal finishes packing his bag. He realizes slowly that he’s not alone in the lecture hall. He doesn’t look up but says,

“I didn’t think you’d made it.”

“Inaugural lecture? Setting out your stall? Honestly? I wouldn’t have missed it. This is your ‘design’ and everything.”

He paraphrases the popular leitmotif of Hannibal’s work and Hannibal smiles in delight.

“I’m pleased you think so. Will you come for lunch? You can eviscerate me over the offerings of the SCR.”

“So I can honour every part of you? All right. I’d like that.”

He holds up a notebook, Will Graham is as old-school as they come in some ways and frighteningly modern in others. Including in his theologies.

“I’ve got pages of sharp edges here, a pointed query there, a scalpel of intent..”

“Or we could call it lunch and a chat. Socialise even. God forbid we should become friendly.”

Will looks at him shrewdly,

“Gods forbid?”

Hannibal laughs and then holds the door open ushering Will in front of him.

The SCR is abuzz and it seems that Dr Chilton at least has rallied. Possibly fortified by the food, and his own post-doctoral students hanging on his every word. The two junior lecturers Dr Brown and Dr Matthews look like they are eating up each and every comment.

Will leans in to Hannibal as they join the short queue for the hot covers on one of the long side-boards.

“He has a very feisty tongue.”

“A chatty pascal lamb.”

“An unwilling sacrifice.”

“An unwitting one.”

“An unwitty one.”

Hannibal smiles, his eyes crinkling in amusement, Will carries on sotto voce,

“He’d be willing to be offered up if it meant some worship and adulation.”

Hannibal snorts,

“And adulation is tantamount to success?”

“So shallow Professor Lecter.”

“So naïve Dr Graham.”

They find their way to the end of a long table and sit opposite one another. Both still smirking.

“All that aside, how’s it going Hannibal? Are you settling in?”

“I was here for a term once before.” Hannibal prods at his steak and kidney pie and makes a face at it but tries a forkful. Hmm not offal after all, he debates whether to share the witticism. He carries on, “But that was almost twenty years ago. Oxford has changed a lot.”

“Sure. But some things haven’t.”

Hannibal looks around,

“You’re right of course. Some things haven’t. Some of the things I like about Oxford are still relevant and redolent. And some are deliciously irrelevant. But I enjoy them.”

Will chews on his own forkful,

“Good. And are your rooms all right?”

“More than adequate. Especially as it is only for a year.”

Dr Graham frowns slightly and smiles tightly,

“Of course. Just a year. Still. I hope you’ll deign to come out to my place? I’m a little way out but there’s good walking. Fishing in season too. And plenty to read.”

Hannibal looks at him in surprise, maybe he hadn’t been too persistent in his suggestions that Will might come to the lecture.

“Thank you. I’d like that Will. Very much.”

Will nods and smiles and eats another mouthful.

“You ok with dogs?”

“Dogs?”

“I’ve got six.”

“Six?” Hannibal pauses, “ I beg you pardon, I sound like a parrot. How unexpected of you!”

Will grins,

“Yes? Good. Wouldn’t want to be un-interesting now would I?”

Hannibal swallows and glances back down at his plate. Is it possible that Will Graham renowned ascetic and well known un-popular theologian is flirting with him? He looks up through his eyelashes and catches the amused look on Will’s face. Oh.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal stretches his legs. Perhaps he should consider purchasing a chair, or at least a cushion. His rooms are decent but goodness whilst the aesthetics might suit him he wonders about the ethics of the college supplying furniture that might actually damage your visiting Fellows. Death by Parker Knoll does not sound propitious. And would make a terrible headline in the Oxford Mail. 

He stretches again. It is just possible it has been the period of relative physical inactivity over the last month that has led him to this point. Deciding and then packing sufficient belongings for a year is something of a chore. Clothes may be simple, well, it is a little wetter and chillier than he remembers, oh halcyon days of youth, but a new woollen and a raincoat will address that issue, but books and other conveniences have been rather harder to decide upon.

He looks around his sitting room. And yes, he does appreciate that Donald has given him rooms that include a bedroom, sitting room and small study. Even if the bathroom is barely deserving of the name. Chilton had been astonished.

“You’ve got an actual shower. Dear gods. Does it have hot water? The plumbing’s so bad. You do. What on earth did you do to deserve an actual private bathroom? Extraordinary.” He’d given Hannibal an assessing look. “Donald must like you.”

Hannibal had replied. “I believe he likes both me and the grant money. I wouldn’t wish to commit myself to which influenced him more.”

Chilton had huffed, and then smirked, and then looked bemused. And possibly a little frustrated.

“I brought in fifty thousand last year. Which is a lot in our faculty. I practically prostituted myself for that.”

Hannibal had smiled softly. “Did you.”

It had left Chilton with a befuddled expression. Not quite sure if he’d just been insulted. And if so, to what extent he’d been the architect of his own mortification.

With a small sigh Hannibal gets up and goes to the window. The afternoon is a mild one. And would actually suit a stroll into the centre of the city. He could even purchase a more waterproof coat. And a sweater, though he supposes he ought perhaps to get in the habit once again of referring to any such woollen garment as a jumper. Such are the delicious vagaries of two peoples separated by a common language. It gives him a moment’s pause. Perhaps that’s something he can make use of? He spends five minutes making a note to himself for later and then gathers up what he considers to be his wholly inadequate jacket.

..................................

 

As he walks along The Broad he tips a mental cap to the Oxford Martyrs, memorialised in the paving outside Balliol, he may not agree with their ecclesiology or even the tightness of their theologies but he appreciates their willingness to defend ideas and beliefs wrung hard from years of thought and no doubt prayer. God’s terrific he thinks, to let such men ritualise their deaths in such a way as to make meaning almost 500 years later. Still a bright flame. Still illuminating in deed as well as thought. 

Although not the most direct route he carries on to the end and turns left onto Cornmarket. Much improved he believes since the banishment of all buses and cars. Though dear god the traffic in the rest of the city? Terrible. The town planners must sleep ill each and every night. He had been considering a bicycle until he’d realised that might be tantamount to an act similar to Latimer and Ridley.

He allows himself the faint hubristic nostalgia of stroking the stones of Boswell’s department store. He’d had a lover who had laughed and said that everything could be found within as long as you had searched the length and breadth of Oxford prior. Certainly it has retained its peculiar mix of neither useful nor beautiful. Though they do still carry the milled French soap he prefers. In several fragrances. He dips inside and exits ten minutes later with a slimy printed plastic bag. Ten pence he thinks! Goodness. Still. Save the planet and all. And it will make wrapping for something.

He carries on along the street dodging worthies brandishing leaflets and a straw hatted busker. Who might even be the same one from 20 years before, slower now, redder in the face but still tapping and blowing on a harmonica. Perhaps more laboured and more breathy now. But able still to carry a tune and a rhythm to match.

At Golden Cross he takes a sharp turn left, and having effectively done almost three sides of a square he walks into the covered market.

..................................

He spends half an hour just reacquainting himself with the layout and the current spring of shops. And the smells; fish, sawdust, leather, wool and blood. The occasional false note from a passing odiferous individual. But clean smells he thinks, natural, biological. And if they are at the earthy end? What of it. He stops for a moment to add something to the notebook he carries. ’a theology of food??? Not sacrament, but substance??? Earth to earth? Avoiding symbology but addressing harvest and gathering?’ He hums a little. There might be something in it. Not his usual stock in trade but something.

He pockets the note book and makes his way a little more purposefully along one of the rows. The small shop he steps into has been here as long as he can remember and details on the signage indicate upwards of fifty years. The assistant gives him an assessing look, takes in the bag, and rightly surmises someone who might actually make a purchase.

“Sir?”

“I’m looking for a raincoat. Something that will live up to its name and truly keep out the rain. Not goretex. Something with a little more panache.”

The assistant smiles at him and moves towards a rack alongside one short wall.

“Not yellow Sir? Or are you feeling adventurous? We’ve a lovely red too?”

He grins. To offset the sardonic tone, and Hannibal finds himself amused.

“I was erring more towards the black or blue.”

“Like a bruise? Well. We can do either. Though I wonder about a nice slatey charcoal. Or even chocolate. We’ve one that’s the colour of something decent. Not some milky Rowntree’s thing.”

“All right not black. But not brown. I’ll look like a twig.”

The assistant maybe pouts a little and then pulls a petrol blue oilskin from the rail.

“Danish. Lovely piece of work. Good reinforcing. Comes in three lengths.”

“Trust the Danes to know their inclement weather.”

“All the Scandinavians Sir. They understand inclemency like no one else.”

“Of that kind?”

The assistant shrugs.

“Written in the blood isn’t it? Either you can cope, or you can’t. Best of all you adapt. Make decent rainwear. Good design.”

Hannibal possibly smiles faintly. But he does like the coat. A three quarter length with a hood that can be detached and a decent collar. The assistant holds it out like a valet and smooths it up onto Hannibal’s shoulders when he extends his arms.

“Check the mirror Sir. I think I got the sizing right.”

He turns to the mirror and considers. The assistant has pretty well nailed it. Like theses to a Wittenberg door. The colour is good. The length just right. And as he turns to check the back view he thinks it has a flattering cut and a nice amount of swish.

It should do for the price. But the assistant reminds him he can claim the VAT back if he keeps the receipt, and really that’s a 20% discount straight away.

“You’ll be wearing that for ever Sir. Could be buried in it. Very fine.”

Hannibal smiles and accepts the package. The assistant insists on a brown parcel paper and string. Tying a neat knot to finish which makes a carrying loop.

“It’s our signature. Better than a plastic bag Sir. Gives you an air.”

Outside back in the row of stalls and small shops Hannibal considers this. Identity as expressed through shopping. Oh, not logos and branding, but the process of purchasing. Who we buy from and more importantly how. Small shops. Independents. Localisation. He walks slowly along, gradually gaining a little pace as he heads for a stand that sells sweaters, jumpers, cardigans, pullovers and every incarnation of wool covering possible. He smiles to see that they have introduced hand knitted socks. The sweater he is currently wearing came from here, and apart from a darn necessitated by an aggressive moth, it has served him well and kept him warm for twenty years.

The shopkeeper leaves him to mull over a choice between four that she insists are just right for him. Colour, cut, fit, and size. Unfortunately he likes them all. He may have to think about it. He holds one up appraisingly.

“Personally I like the one with more blue and grey in it. But you’d look good in any of them.”

He turns and smiles.

“Do you think so? I can’t decide. I’ve just bought a coat this colour.”

Will Graham eyes his current jacket and laughs.

“I hope you’ve bought something more useful than the one you’re wearing. It’s a nice fit but that’s all I can say about it.”

“I’m surprised you have anything to say about it at all.”

His colleague laughs.

“I do think about clothes. I’m just making different choices to you. For different ends.”

“If you’re anticipating I might say a little something about your design I am resisting it.”

“Hopefully that’s the bulk of what you’re resisting. But as I see you’ve been shopping in Drew’s I might even believe this means you’re considering a visit.”

He indicates the parcel and Hannibal smiles again. Signature indeed. And more sure now, that he is indeed being flirted with.

“And does the blue and grey meet with your approval?”

“Hand me your jacket, try it on. If it costs what I expect, you should. At the very least.”

Hannibal puts his bag and package between his feet and then takes off his jacket and gives it to Will to hold.

He pulls on the sweater. And Will smiles.

“Very nice. Though obviously.” He leans in a little. “It looks good off too.” He glances away and then back. “I know you’re preaching Sunday evening but do you want to come out Friday, have a walk on Saturday? Some of the kiddies are coming out in the evening, you know, country supper, theologising. Late night maundering. I’ve plenty of bedspace.”

He smiles lazily at Hannibal.

“And sleeping bags and mattresses. If it gets very full. Though the most unexpected combinations have been known to share if need be.”

“I’m not sure your students would appreciate being called kiddies.”

Will smiles again.

“Amazing what people don’t mind being called if they get something they like as a result.”

“Yes?”

“I think so.”

He wets his lips with the point of his tongue. Leaving it a little shiny. He gives a little quirk of a smile and Hannibal realises he’s been caught looking. 

“So. Friday? Coming?”

Hannibal looks up into Will’s really very attractive face. Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Almost certainly.”

..........................................


	3. Chapter 3

Mischa Lecter reads her brother’s email again. This is the third time he’s mentioned Will Graham in one of his correspondences. She’s familiar with his work, Hannibal has been diligent in referring her to the key ideas he’s been promulgating over the last few years. She can’t say it’s her bag really, but she can see that the thinking if not the conclusions would appeal to Hannibal. He does have an appetite for the eclectic. And she can imagine him enjoying honing his ideas on the whetstone of Will Graham.

She snorts to herself. That is a euphemism of the first order. She should tell him. He’d probably be faintly scandalised and then amused. She reads the rest of the message. She could send him some cushion covers. Something Turkish and carpety, or Moroccan. Something with a bit of zing. He’s probably surrounded by dark furniture smelling of beeswax and dim lighting. William Morris curtains. Farrow and Ball paintwork. She grins again, she knows her knowledge of Oxford colleges is limited to television dramatisations of a suspiciously high number of deaths per capita across the city. Books she thinks, she could send him a cushion cover that looked like book shelving. He might find that quietly amusing.

...................................

Hannibal makes his way down the staircase behind a group of undergraduates. He has no need to rush, he has plenty of time before his small group of tutees assembles. He eavesdrops on their conversation unashamedly.

“You got an invite. I didn’t.”

“Do you want me to ask him. I don’t mind.”

The first speaker, a dour postgraduate that Hannibal faintly thinks is one of Frederick’s, grumbles again.

“I don’t want charity.”

His female colleague sighs at him.

“Francis. Either you want to come, or you don’t. Dr Graham isn’t a bitch about these things. We can just rock up Saturday evening, and either get the last train back or stay overnight. There’s no Sunday service but we can walk to the village. There’s a bus.”

“I’m supposed to be singing Reba, I have to be back.”

“Well good for you. Catch the train then. The bus gets in at 11. What time’s the God bothering?”

Francis mutters his reply. And she laughs.

“In that case you’ve got plenty of time. Now. Come on. Even your boss said he’d make it. I was there when Dr G asked him.”

Francis capitulates with some scarcely managed grace.

“Should I bring a bottle?”

“A bottle. Antihistamines if you’re allergic. Dr G has dogs. Sleeping mat and bag. Just in case. Though Dr G said he might put a tent thing up in the garden. He’s got some teepee job. We had a lot of fun last year.”

The two students exit the staircase and make their way along a path beside the main quad. Hannibal pauses and then heads in the opposite direction to the room where he usually takes his smallest classes. After having been given the almost sumptuous personal rooms he’s managed to accept with a smile that he is sharing these. 

Dr Du Maurier is just packing up as he arrives. She eyes him with a small smile.

“Hannibal. Good afternoon. How are you?”

“Well, thank you. I have been overhearing about the grand assemblage. Shall you be in attendance also?”

She smiles as she carries on sorting papers and books. It isn’t the most convenient of arrangements, a room that is not her own in which to teach, but she can usually nobble a willing assistant if there are too many for her to manage.

“Are you referring to Will Graham? Yes I think so. I have been prevailed upon to drive, I think because it’s not the easiest place to get to. No public transport to speak of. Well. Not in the evenings. I’m driving Molson and the Dean, of course, and I think Alana Bloom.”

“Of course. Good. I admit to enquiring to ensure I shall not only be subject to the prattling of first years.”

“Ha! Not only. Will’s very generous about it. He invites a few people and then just lets word of mouth do the rest. Last year there were upwards of fifty people all squashed into the nooks and crannies. I believe someone even slept in the bread oven.”

Hannibal raises his eyebrows.

“Goodness. I shall have to be quite persuasive if I am to secure suitable lodging.”

“Not begging to be squeezed in on the journey home?”

He smiles slightly at her.

“I’m invited for the previous night as well. I believe Will’s generosity may extend to me helping set up in advance.”

She finishes the last of her packing and looks at him.

“I expect he’d like you to sit and admire him being both effective and encouraging.”

“Then I’m sure I shall manage both.”

She lifts one of her boxes and he carefully balances a file on top of it. She nods her thanks.

“Do be careful though Hannibal. They might begin to see your patterns.”

He holds the door for her and she exits without a backwards glance.

Yes, he thinks. He does have a pattern. And a type. He sighs.

.................................

On the Friday Hannibal opens a small leather weekend case and carefully folds two spare shirts into it. He debates the merits of packing his clerical collar, though of course he should have time on Sunday to return to his rooms and dress for chapel. And really, as he is to preach he might wear his cassock. He considers, and eventually decides that perhaps he ought, just to err on the cautious side. He manages a small self-acknowledgement that really that is all he is being cautious about.

Patterns indeed.

He adds his shaving gear and washing kit to the case and then adds some clean underwear and socks and then, upon consideration, a pair of gloves. He just has room for a thin pullover and a hand towel though he suspects that Will may give him the loan of something larger. He clicks the locks closed and turns the latches so they won’t come springing open at the slightest jostle.

His briefcase he fills as usual with his current work; some notes, a few articles he is reviewing, a book he has mostly but not entirely given up on, a pack of ink cartridges and finally his tablet and its charger. 

It is at this point that he realises he has packed no pyjamas or night wear. Oh yes. He sighs. Patterns. Still his shirt can double and with any luck the house is not too cold. Perhaps a hot water bottle might be begged.

As he walks across the city to the station he lets the briefcase on its long leather strap bump against his hip. His new raincoat is tucked over it. His suitcase he clutches in his other hand, balancing each weight out. On the station concourse he looks up at the departures board and is glad he has ten minutes in hand to buy his ticket and make his way through the turnstiles to the platform.

The queue is not as tiresome as he’d feared, though the ticketmaster frowns at his accented English. As he crosses over the footbridge he glances down at the platform from which he is not travelling and sees several postgraduates he recognises. At least he won’t have to engage them in conversation, though there is every chance he might do tomorrow.

When the train arrives he waits for everyone to disembark before nosing his way into one of the standard carriages. He settles in to wait for the announcements and the imminent departure. He puts his case and briefcase on the seat beside him and debates the merits of digging something out to read. The journey is timetabled for only a twenty minute ride so it’s hardly worth the trouble.

On the opposite platform he sees the train going in the other direction draw in. Just for a moment he is reminded of the Agatha Christie novel the ‘4:50 from Paddington’. To be sure she’s less popular as an author these days but her classic whodunnits so often turned on questions of why rather than who or even how. He looks out of the window onto his own platform and the train makes a brief lurch before setting off. He thinks of Christie again, wonders if there might be something by way of an exercise for his second year undergraduates in her writing. Or indeed in some other detective novelists of the classic ilk. Perhaps a comparative theology? He could suggest six texts. He takes his small notebook from his jacket pocket and makes a note.

He’s almost lost in a reverie, considering his choices when the train announcement alerts him that he has arrived. He remembers how to make the doors work and steps down onto the platform. He glances up. It isn’t raining just yet but he expects it shall soon. Possibly very soon. He pulls the directions Will emailed to him from his pocket. A fifteen minute walk across two fields. With any luck he’ll arrive before it does actually come down.

He crosses over the tracks and then takes a small path between the railway and some housing. It’s only a few moments before the path opens out into a field. He can see the path tracked regularly across it. The wheat having been harvested only a week or two ago it is stubbled and a little sharp underfoot. In the diagonally opposite corner he can see a gap in the hedgerow. From there, Will has said, you can see his house.

He’s right. But as he makes his way across the second field the rain starts to come down. By the time he has arrived it is a steady downpour.

The front door, at the top of what could be described as a lawn, is propped open. A straggly rosemary bush beside it.

“I saw you coming across the field. From upstairs. I heard the train. Give me your coat. Is this the new one. Lovely. Well, Hannibal, welcome.” He quirks another small smirk. “You ought to come inside.”

Yes, thinks Hannibal. Patterns.


	4. Chapter 4

There is a small entrance area which has a concreted floor just beyond the door. There is an old butler sink in one corner and the room shows evidence of numerous canine occupants, both beds and toys. Will dries his hands on what looks like a tea-towel.

“I’ll just hang the coat here. How damp are you? Do you want to put your case there too? Don’t worry about your shoes. It’s only wood underfoot. Come through.”

The kitchen beyond the mud room is dominated by a large stripped pine table with an assortment of upright chairs surrounding it. There are two places set at the far end, opposite each other. Just a plate and bowl, a water glass and wine glass, cutlery and cloth napkins. Between the two settings there’s a bread board and a dish of butter and an unopened bottle of red wine.

Along one outer wall of the kitchen is a run of cupboards with a sink in the centre. The window above provides a good view of the lawn, a gentle slope down to a large crack willow and a small stream beyond. Hannibal can just see what he imagines must be Will’s car on the far side of the stream. He looks around to find Will watching him in amusement from in front of the cooker.

“Just stew. With some good chestnuts. And the bread is from one of my neighbours. Will you drink some wine?”

“I should have brought some.”

“Not at all. I’ve some red.” He gestures at the bottle and rummages around in a drawer and then passes Hannibal a corkscrew. “Would you like to open it? I thought we’d eat in about an hour. How does that sound?”

“Thank you.”

Will keeps stirring and lifts his chin to indicate one of the armchairs on the far side of the room, placed in front of a small Rayburn solid fuel stove.

“Make yourself comfortable do. It’s alight. Actually it’s the first time I’ve lit it for a long while. The summer we’ve had hasn’t really required it. How are you?”

“I think I am quite well. The inaugural attracted some appropriate attention. I’ve a review coming out any day now, and the current chapter is progressing. And you?” He opens the bottle of wine and then sets it down at his feet in front of the stove when he settles into the more comfortable looking of the two armchairs. 

“Good thanks. Lots of people coming out tomorrow. I’ll have done my bit for the social niceties for the year. Set lots of tongues wagging.” He pauses. “I was giving you the opportunity to make some remark about tongue wagging.”

Hannibal laughs.

“Am I so obvious?”

Will puts the spoon down in the saucepan and turns towards him.

“See. There we go? Now that’s suitably open to interpretation. I could parse it to mean you’re good at picking up cues, a nice bit of badinage, or it could mean something else entirely.”

Hannibal crosses his knees and laces his fingers together pressed down on his uppermost thigh.

“I suppose it might.”

“I thought the mic drop about ‘coming out’ was also nicely placed.”

“I suppose so too.”

Will turns back to his saucepan and turns the flame on the cooker down to its lowest setting. He balances a lid on top, just enough to let the steam escape. Then he comes round the table to sit in the armchair opposite Hannibal’s. He leans forwards.

“I imagine that you have to be a little careful?”

“From what I know of you, you have an excellent imagination.”

Will nods.

“Good. That’s what I thought too. Shall I show you where you’re sleeping tonight? And tomorrow, if you care to stay. There’s a bus on Sunday, though I’d be happy to run you in. Might even stay and hear you preach. Do you wear a cassock? Or just a collar?”

“As the need arises. I’d like that Will. Thank you.”

Will gets up and holds a hand out to Hannibal and pulls him lightly to his feet. There’s a moment when it’s not clear if either of them will let go, but they manage it.

“I’ll show you, you can unpack, and then we can eat. Oh. And at some point I’ll introduce you to the dogs.”

“And they are?”

“Sitting room next door. In front of an actual fire. Not this paltry thing. Shall I get your case?”

Will collects both the briefcase and the suitcase from the mud room and Hannibal follows him out of the kitchen and up the short staircase with just a single twist so it doubles back on itself to the next floor. On the way they pass the landline telephone. Situated next to the stairs which Hannibal supposes might be conducive to short calls. It’s a little draughty. On the wall above is a framed charcoal and chalk drawing of an elderly man with a beard and pipe. There’s a faint resemblance to Will so he wonders if it might be a relation. On the next landing Will gestures off to the right.

“Door at the end is the bathroom. There’s a loo upstairs on the next floor as well. And off the sitting room. Very practical.” He points to the left to an open door. Beyond Hannibal can just see the corner of a double bed. “That’s my room, and this will be yours.” If Hannibal feels a moment of disappointment at the sleeping arrangements he manages not to show it.

The room is small and has a single couch-bed made up with striped bed linen, sheets and blankets rather than the almost ubiquitous duvets, tucked under a slightly sloping eave. There is a desk and upright chair and a small slipper chair in the corner not occupied by the bed or a small bookcase. In the middle of the internal wall there is a door. Will smiles.

“You thought I’d invited you out under false pretences? Though your capacity not to telegraph what you’re thinking is pretty good. I didn’t catch the hesitation. And I was looking for it. Here, have a seat.”

He puts down the two bags on the desk and then sits on the bed and pats the space beside him. Hannibal sits and turns to look at him. Will picks up his nearest hand and holds it between his.

“Look. All amusement aside. I know you have to be careful. I understand that. But, well, you know I like you. And I’m reasonably sure the feeling is mutual? So. If you would be interested we might enjoy a little exploration. Whilst preserving the proprieties?”

“You intend for people to know I am occupying this room? In advance of everyone’s arrival. As well as during the party. For the look of the thing.”

Will lifts Hannibal’s hand to his mouth and gently kisses the knuckles.

“Not just for the look of it. I don’t think either of us should speed this along. Of course I’d like to have you in my bed. But I’d rather savour my meal.”

“Not one to play with your food?”

“Not when it’s a specially imported delicacy.”

Hannibal laughs.

“Very good. You’re right. On all counts. Donald of course wouldn’t be especially bothered. But the Diocese would and the convening committee of the Fellowship might have something to say. I believe ‘moral turpitude’ is still one of the things for which the Chair might be rescinded.”

“I know. Which is why I appreciate the need to be cautious. I note you didn’t address the secondary issue?”

“Of whether I’d like to go to bed with you? Had we not established that? I rather thought we might have done.”

“But cautiously?”

Hannibal nods. 

“I’d like to suggest with gay abandon, but I fear you will just laugh.”

“I might.” Will huffs a small chuckle. “So. Supper. An introduction to my significant others. A walk across the fields. And a little cautious investigation.”

“And tomorrow? More of the same? Plus the additional verisimilitude of a party?”

“That’s right. Yes?”

Hannibal takes a breath. He has been exceptionally careful over the last few years. More so recently with the Archbishop hinting about a possible bishopric in his future. He has been careful, and lonely. Of course he has friends, and colleagues, and those in the Church and out with whom he is sociable, and his academic work has kept him busy at conferences and talks. But someone with whom to share an intimate connection? And someone to take happily to bed? Both have been absent. Celibacy may not be required of its priests, but a gay cleric is still frowned on. More so if they are engaged in a relationship.

“Let’s see how good a cook you are.”

Will kisses his hand again and lets it go.

“Very good. I think the wine will have had long enough to breathe.”

Hannibal nods as they both stand.

“As have I.”

.................................

Late that evening the dogs are once again stretched out on the sitting room floor in front of the fire. Hannibal and Will have made it half way down a second bottle of wine. Sat across from each other on an old velvet covered Chesterfield Will’s socked feet are resting across Hannibal’s lap. They have let the room dim as dusk has settled into dark, just the fire providing some gloaming light.

“Tired?”

“Perhaps a little.”

“They’re boisterous with people the first time they meet them.”

“It was an enjoyable walk.”

“Same again tomorrow morning?”

“And you’ll feed me again.”

Will nods.

“Yes of course. Then I’ll do a little setting up. Plastic glasses, I’ll put the ice trays in the freezer, I’ve six monster bags of crisps, so we can dot them around, there’s about sixty sausage rolls, and sixty tiny quiche things. I bought three wine boxes, which I know are sacrilege but there’s about three people who would care and they’ll all bring something with them. Why are you smiling?”

“Bedelia said I should give you the opportunity to be both effective and encouraging. So that I might sit back and admire you achieving those ends.”

“Did she now? I think she’s driving out isn’t she? Bringing Donald?”

“So I believe.”

“Good. He’s bringing his sound system. Some amplifier. We’ll set it up in the kitchen and the music will play down the garden.”

“I heard Ms McClane discussing the possibility of a teepee? For those who might wish to stay overnight. Really? You have plenty of space inside. Though Bedelia did mention sufficient crowds last year to require the use of a bread oven.”

Will laughs and gestures to the fireplace. Off to one side is an old fashioned bread oven built deep into the stonework of the chimney, minus its door.

“That’s true actually. Though we hadn’t lit the fire. I had the party a little earlier and we were crammed out. We put the damn teepee up at about two in the morning. I haven’t made that mistake this year. It’s already up in the orchard. But there must have been forty or fifty people all told. A few slept in their cars and one person brought a hammock of all things.” He smiles. “I didn’t show you upstairs, but there are two large rooms in the attic. And another single and a double on our floor. I found one couple under the kitchen table in the morning. Oh no.” He sees Hannibal’s expression. “Just fast asleep. They’d rescued all the coats from the mud room to sleep on. That floor is a little unforgiving. The dogs thought it was a great game.”

“And these were all students?”

“And faculty. A few College bods too. I think I invited maybe a dozen? Word of mouth did the rest. No social media. Anyone caught posting about it gets sent home. Though after nine p.m. it’s impossible to get out here except by car, and mobile reception is rubbish. Did Bedelia say if she was bringing anyone else.”

“Alana Bloom. And I think Professor Verger.”

“Really. Well good for him. He’ll sit in one of the armchairs and talk twentieth century old school Catholicism for the evening. I’m glad. He says he’s too frail to make it out here these days. He used to come a fair bit. Fish along the river. Further along the canal too. Is she driving Fred?”

“She didn’t mention him. Why, do you think he is coming?”

“He said so. I hope so. We don’t always do so well together. He thinks I’m too abrupt. I think he’s too obsequious. It’s not a perfect combination. You know he wants the Dean’s job?”

“When Donald retires? Yes. I had assumed as much.”

“And you? Might you be persuaded to stay on? If you had a shot at it?”

Hannibal finishes his glass and sets it down by his feet, holding onto Will’s as he does so, so as to not dislodge them from his lap.

“I’m told the purple beckons.”

He watches Will’s face grow more somber.

“Hannibal? If that’s so, then, well. Please, don’t let any dalliance with me wreck that for you. That might require you to be more than cautious.”

He sighs and gently squeezes one of Will’s feet. 

“It has been extremely tiresome reminding myself of that every time I have met someone who has stirred even the faintest interest.”

Will’s eyes are dark, just a reflection of the fire settling down to embers setting them aglow.

“And have I? Stirred a faint interest?”

Hannibal holds his hand out and Will allows himself to be pulled round and then across Hannibal’s lap until he is straddling his thighs. He reaches up and touches Will’s bottom lip gently with a thumb. Holds it there, just pressing down slightly. 

“You know you have. Shall I show you?”

Will shudders briefly, touches the thumb with the very tip of his tongue, dampening it.

“Please.”

....................................  
....................................


	5. Chapter 5

In the kitchen Hannibal finds Will making breakfast. He hesitates for a moment and then walks round the long table and steps behind him and encircles Will with his arms and kisses his neck. Will makes a small, happily indecent noise.

“Yes. More of that thank you. You’re incentivising the cook very thoroughly.”

He turns off the burner under the eggs and sausages and puts a lid over the pan and turns, then puts his arms round Hannibal’s neck.

“Sleep well?”

“Thank you. Yes. You?” Hannibal’s hands slip under Will’s shirt and he spreads them across his back.

“I did. I’m always up early though. Partly the dogs. Partly old habits.”

“Some would say good habits.”

“If they equate an aptitude for early mornings with virtue then yes. Good habits.”

Hannibal kisses him, just a brush of his lips across his mouth. 

“This is a good habit.”

Will presses against him, chest to groin and does a deliberate squirm, rubbing against him, then tilts his head so he can slot their mouths together. They open their mouths to each other and speak without words. All lips and silent tongues. And come apart breathless.

Will swears very quietly. “A very good habit. God. I won’t want to break it.”

Hannibal smiles and kisses him again. Another light brush. With tenderness and the kind of wetness that makes both of them want to do incautious things.

“You have me for now.”

Will nods and then lowers his forehead to Hannibal’s shoulder and rests there. Hannibal strokes his back. Feels Will’s heartbeat, elevated like his own. Feels their mutual arousal pressed against each other. It would be so easy to take him to bed right now. Easy and desirable. They had resisted the pull the previous evening. Unless one counted hands and mouths. Hannibal had gone to his room and his solitary couch and allowed himself the spill at his own hand he had held off on with Will. He had wiped the corner of his mouth, chasing Will’s taste on his tongue. Delighted with how easily Will had come apart under the working of his mouth, into his throat. A desperate urgent release they had both been felled by. Will had gasped and moaned. A liturgy Hannibal had thought. A liturgy of praise and worship. 

“Will?”

“Yes. Just. Considering.”

“Of course. What would you have me do Will?” He lifts one hand to squeeze round Will’s neck.

“This. This is good. Perfect really.”

“Yes?” He tips Will’s chin up and watches the small expressions of Will’s face. And is reassured by what he sees there. “Do you know how many times Luther drafted his theses? Or Britain sent expeditions to conquer the Himalaya? Or they tried to find the Northwest Passage?”

Will let’s some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders and back.

“Yes. I know. Breakfast?”

They disengage from one another, and Hannibal takes the same seat at the table as the night before. Will turns back to the stove and checks his pan and clicks the burner on again. Outside in the garden there’s a blackbird whistling.

“Did you know Blackbirds have local accents and variations?”

Hannibal smiles. This is all part of the Will he could so easily lose himself in, lose himself to.

“I didn’t. Will you tell me about it.”

 

.........................................

 

Donald laughs as he flicks the last switch and there’s a crackle and hum and then Duke Ellington. He raises his voice considerably above his normal even pitch.

“I reckon they could hear that in the village. Fantastic. Bedelia my dear, I think a dance to Ella? When she joins us?”

Bedelia smiles. Her glass is half full, she has managed to hold onto the bottle she brought, the evening is propitious, several of her own students have made it out here and Will Graham is being all the things she predicted. And Donald? Donald does love to dance, or sway, or jive. 

“Of course. Indoors or out?”

Donald peers out of the window.

“It’s not raining. I’d say that’s a win for out. Now. Where’s Will?”

“Teepee I believe. Moderating a discussion between the Neo-liberals and the angry young everythings.”

She offers him some wine, and he tips his empty glass in her direction. He gives a happy little jiggle in time to the music.

“Is he by-Jove. How very dedicated of him. Molson alright? And where’s ChillyDilly?”

She smiles again and half shouts. “I think Professor Verger is next door, talking with Hannibal. Possibly Alana also. And some of Fred’s students. I don’t know where he is himself.”

“Anything I need to be shielded from?”

She moves closer to him and he bends his head so she can speak into his ear. “Possibly a small affair between one of the bursar’s assistants, and the Master’s personal secretary. Nothing else.”

“Jolly good. And I note you didn’t say ‘yet’.”

She takes a mouthful of her wine and leans more easily against the counter top. At her somewhat rough and ready reckoning there are maybe fifty or sixty people spread through the house and garden. She had counted six cars when they’d arrived and the last train of the evening is due into the village in twenty minutes. Which means there will be another surge of partygoers in forty minutes time. Or longer. If people forgot to bring torches.

She’s caught precisely one look between Hannibal and Will and that had been over the opening of a wine box. So, either Hannibal has heeded her small warning and is being additionally careful, or Will has successfully duped her regarding his interests. It wouldn’t be the first time. And she suspects Alana may still be a little bewildered by that whole sequence of events. Squirrels in the chimney indeed.

“Bedelia hello. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am. Come and dance Hannibal. The music is at an acceptable level in the garden. I can hardly hear you in here.”

Outdoors the grass is a little damp underfoot, though the clouds have shifted and it is not currently raining. Will has rigged up some lanterns along the trees that line one side of the lawn and if she turns she can see more in the small orchard of apple, pear, plum and a wild cherry that abuts the house.

The music changes and she accepts a small twirl.

“I thought you liked to dance.”

“I do. There’s hardly any opportunity. Just the occasional soirée, or conference social. But I enjoy it very much.”

He turns her again and she smiles at him.

“A good day? Did it take long to prepare the house?”

“We had a long walk in the morning and a late lunch. Will had done almost everything before I arrived. There were just a few things to see to in the kitchen. Someone to hold one end of the cabling for the lights in the teepee. And that was all.”

She smiles and swirls with the music, he catches her twirl and swings her back. Both of them laughing.

“It sounds very pleasant. Will you stay tonight or shall you require us to save you a space.”

“Fishing Bedelia?”

She acknowledges the moment with a small smirk, but he sighs in response.

“Have you ever stayed here? I gather Professor Verger used to.”

“And Donald. He used to fish with Molson. We’ve all been out here one time or another. For someone so monklike in his habits Will knows how to give the appearance of sociability. So. Yes. Just the once. Small room. Next to the bathroom. Why?”

“And are you staying tonight? I know you said you’d drive but you’re hanging on to that bottle very tightly.”

“Did you see the choice. You’d hang on if this was the only decent white in sight. Will’s a blood red man. I’ll cut myself off shortly, but I think Alana might drive back. She’s off alcohol. Some prescription she’s on.”

Hannibal smiles and as the music changes he indicates a bench off the main lawn just beside the path that leads to the vegetable garden. As they sit he nods up to the house.

“That’s my room, under the eaves. My morning view when I got up was Will out here weeding and talking to two of the dogs. I’d thought of saying Matins, but he was prayer enough.”

“And shall I hear your confession Hannibal?”

“All that might be confessed is that I like him. He is clever. Kind. And yes, effective and encouraging. And with just enough acid.”

“Oh dear.”

He sighs. “Yes. Oh dear. At this moment I am at something of a loss.”

“And all loss and longing makes Hannibal a dull player.”

“No cut and thrust to me.”

She laughs. “I think you know your own mind. Hannibal. Or at least your words do.”

“That may be the problem. I betray myself at every turn.”

They sit on the edge of the vegetable garden, a slight breeze stirring the trees behind them. Bedelia looks up when she hears voices coming from across the field. She takes his hand and squeezes it.

“This may be the last group. Come on. They’ll need managing. I think Will is still being lost-modern. Which, before you ask is his new take on the current state of things.”

Hannibal finally twitches a better smile. “Is it? I just did a review of something of that ilk. I wonder if it was his.”

She laughs and stands up. “Well I hope you were positive about it. Anonymous I take it?”

“The article was. Not so my review.” 

She holds out her hand. “Never mind. He’s a big boy, I’m sure he can take any criticism you might have levelled at it.” Hannibal makes a face and pulls himself to his feet, nominally letting her pull him along the path to the front door. He hopes so. He rather suspects he might have been scathing.

.............................................

In the house the music has been turned down, Frederick is holding court over some point of modern Church aggressively progressive nonsense as he puts it. One of their less charming colleagues Dr Hobbs is muttering to Professor Verger. Dr Bloom is laughing with one of her colleague’s post-docs and Hannibal has finally caught sight of Will again.

“What time will this all expire?”

“What time is it now? Ok. Last year everyone was still going strong at about 3 but by 4 there was a general consensus of collapse. So. Maybe two hours? Tops? I hope.”

Hannibal leans a little closer to him.

“And what time will you go to bed?”

“I’m already close to the end of my sociability. I’ll just do a final round. Oh.. I’m being slow. Hannibal?”

Hannibal doesn’t look around, nothing would draw other’s attention more than such an obviously curated conversation.

“Would you prefer I wait for you, or for you to go on ahead?”

Will smiles vaguely at two passing students, Francis, and Reba. Whom he rather likes. She has the patience of a saint he thinks. He and Hannibal step back so they can get by more easily, then watch them squeeze into the group around Frederick.

“I just want to check how much you’ve had to drink?”

Hannibal holds up his glass. “This is cranberry. And can I just say it is faintly disgusting. I allowed myself one glass of the red.” He pauses. “I wondered if you would ask.”

Will nods at him. “So you’re going to.. you want to?”

Hannibal leans closer to his ear and steps back again to avoid another passer by. He ends up backed against a built in bookcase. He draws Will with him, lowers his voice to a soft husk. “Very much.”

Will smiles and looks around the room.

“I’ll check outdoors, I think it’s stated to rain again, and then around the house. Back here in an hour?”

Hannibal doesn’t reply but steps towards the discussion that has now pulled Professor Verger, Dr Hobbs and Dr Chilton into a lively argument. What he wonders could have animated them so. Dr Hobbs pulls out a thin sheaf of papers from an inside pocket and waves it in his direction.

“Hannibal will agree with me. Anonymity is everything. If he’d known who wrote it would he have been quite so rude?”

Professor Verger snorts in annoyance. “Come along Garret. Don’t you be rude. Save it for the SCR.”

Garret Hobbs turns to Hannibal. “Would you? This thing you’ve neatly eviscerated is by Will. I’m assuming you didn’t know. No hints dropped? See. He didn’t know. And a good thing too.”

Hannibal accepts the journal article and review from Garret and taking his glasses from his pocket he scans it. Though he can remember much of what he said. The group goes a little quiet waiting for his response. “I can imagine Will saying these things. And I can imagine saying this in response. Indeed I did. I expect a thorough rebuttal in the next edition. And surely we can be allowed to disagree with one another, even amongst friends.” 

Frederick laughs. “Well he’s not your student or your direct competitor so I guess it’s not so bad. Unfortunate timing though. Accepting his hospitality whilst dismantling his ideas.”

Hannibal frowns at him. “As I say, I’m confident Will could offer a comprehensive counter argument. And I look forwards to it. Surely we’ve all disagreed with each other at some turn?”

Hobbs laughs. “Well. He isn’t trying to muscle in on any deal of yours is he? Any publisher you’ve in your sights he might have a mind to? Or vice versa? No contested joint authorships. No ‘borrowed’ ideas shared over a drunken conference dinner, that just happen to end up in a paper?” One of the post-graduates snorts and Alana Bloom shifts uncomfortably.

“Garret! Don’t. Let’s not do this here.”

He looks at her and swallows another mouthful from the pint glass he is clutching.

“Oh I don’t know. This is as good a time as any.”

Hannibal looks between his colleagues. To be sure, when you join a College, albeit temporarily, there will be politics and personalities you have to navigate. Perhaps more so when belief, and even faith, can be tied up with the perils of intellectual rigour and academic competitiveness. Perhaps it is the Dean’s position. Perhaps some argument carried out in the semi-public eye of obscure journals. Perhaps an oversight in a book, or review, or lecture. Or something rather more. What does he know of these people’s personal lives? What little they have revealed. And if they have been as circumspect as he? Not much then. The public is not the private even if the personal is political. Even now, even still.

“Perhaps my colleague would be reassured if I promise Will the opportunity for some mutually assured distraction at a future date?”

Frederick snorts.

“Distraction? Not destruction. Ha! Those whom the gods love they would first make M.A.D? Sounds like a plan Hannibal. Let’s tell Donald. He can arrange it. Some nice debatable do? Good for both of you I’d think? Keep you both in the public eye, some nice intellectual foreplay.”

Hannibal puts down his glass on the edge of the fire surround. One of the dogs licks at his hand lazily and he pets her ears. Garret snorts into his glass again.

“We should see what Will has to say first. He might not be best pleased about this. Where is he?”

“He said something about checking on everyone. Making sure the dogs get a final run around. Shall I find him for you and ask?” 

Hobbs laughs a little nastily. “I’ll ask him in the morning. He might not even have seen it yet. Let him keep his illusions a little longer.”

There’s a pause which everyone tries to fill and Hannibal sighs. What ever it is that is throbbing in the undercurrents of the faculty he may have been caught in it. One of the post-graduates attempts a soto voce growl to his colleague.

“I thought you said he and Will Graham were friends.”

“Who? Dr Hobbs? Or Dr Lecter? Or even Dr Chilton?” She glances around and makes an unhappy face. “In academia there are no friends, just people with whom you are friendly.” Her colleague grimaces again. 

......................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter coming today.. I’ve almost finished it...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the fic earns its rating, despite Hannibal’s lack of felicity in the matter of his academic parry.

In his bedroom Will smiles at Donald Sutcliffe. He’d found him sitting in the high backed armchair pushed up against the windowsill listening to the argument coming from the room below. He walks across the room and shuts the window. Not only because of the rain, but because of the way the sounds carries. Donald smiles back at him and waves vaguely towards the room below them.

“You know what they’re talking about? Does that bother you?”

Will pulls over an old upright chair he has in a corner and sits across from Donald. He makes a small rueful noise.

“Someone sent it to me in the post. Anonymous. But. Someone who knew it was my work that Hannibal so beautifully dismantled. Someone who thought I’d be offended.”

“Someone who knew it was yours? Someone who maybe wanted to upset you?”

“Or Hannibal. Or to make a point. Or to fuck up this evening. Or something. I don’t know.”

“To fuck you up?” He looks pointedly towards the bed. “Or both of you?”

Will sighs again and momentarily buries his head in his hands. Nothing gets past Donald. Not a thing.

“He didn’t share my bed last night.”

Donald tips his head. “And you didn’t share his either?”

Will shakes his head, perhaps with a hint of regret. “Nor that. Nor any couch or sofa or armchair or table. Not for want of trying on my part. But he’s self-disciplined.”

Donald manages a small smirk. He’s very fond of Will and has known and somewhat loved Hannibal for a long time.

“He’s had to be. Still is. You didn’t mention the piano.”

Will laughs, and his face twists in a slight smile. “Well. Not the piano either. Can you imagine? It’s out of tune anyway.”

“It would be after.” He smiles at Will gently. “I’m not trying to advise you one way or the other. That’s up to you. But it is just possible someone has guessed. Or surmised. Or hasn’t and is seeking to make a rather different kind of trouble for you. That isn’t to do with Hannibal personally. You know what the stipulations for the Dean’s installation involve.”

Will nods. “I don’t think it’s Garrett. Or even Fred.”

“Though it would serve their ends.”

“If I was distracted? Or I was looking in the wrong direction?”

Donald nods. “I’m just saying be careful Will. You’ve worked hard. Don’t let some little shit stirring things up undermine that.”

“Damnit. I thought we were past all this when Devin left.”

“He’d still like a shot at the Master’s Lodge. Or the Dean’s.”

“I know. And one could be a stepping stone to the other. You’re always exceptional Donald.”

Donald smiles a little more smugly. “Thank you. But he’s not the only one.” He reaches over and pats Will’s knee with a not small amount of affection. “So the gutting didn’t put you off then?”

Will laughs, and rolls his eyes. “God no. Makes him even more interesting if anything. He made some good points. Here. Look. I was working on it when he arrived.” He walks over to the bedside table and holds up the offending review and a notepad. “See? And he’ll enjoy it when I give him a good riposte.”

His colleague smiles again as he gets up and pats the bed post as he passes it. 

“He usually does.”

When he’s gone Will crosses the room again and opens his wardrobe, it’s an old oak one, cracked in places, but sturdy and useful still, it had belonged to his grandfather, might even have been made for him or by him, and there is a panel at the back that can be removed. On the other side of it is the door that opens out into Hannibal’s room. He unlocks it. And then closes the wardrobe doors again. He nods to himself. What ever the reasoning behind the nasty poison pen, if he can call it that, he won’t let it screw things up. The moving finger does not always writ. No matter what Khayyam thought. He locks the room behind him. Donald is one thing, but there are others he’d rather not find loitering in his bedroom.

....................................

As he goes up the stairs he can hear voices from one of the other double rooms on the same floor as his bedroom. He’ll check on the way down. In the two upstairs rooms he finds maybe twenty people all rolled up in sleeping bags. Various mats and cushions have been spread across the floor and though some of the group are clearly asleep there are still some quiet conversations going on. One of the women, Margot he thinks, some kind of great niece or something of Molson, looks up and smiles.

“Everything all right up here?”

She nods. “I think so. We’re just debating whether we might wake up in time for the village service.”

“If the sermon’s short you’ll make the bus too. Any of you drive out?”

She shakes her head. 

“Better go for the bus then. Chapel later. Dr Lecter is preaching at Evensong.”

She brightens at this. “Is he?” She looks round her confederates and there seems to be agreement. “Thanks. We’ll aim for that. We brought some boxes of cereal. And some milk.”

He smiles at her. “Did you? Thank you. In the fridge?”

“Yes. Two of those really big jobbies. Six litre things. Very heavy, we had to stuff them in, sort of on their side.” She makes a gesture with her hands to suggest how difficult it was to Tetris them into the old larder fridge in the small room that leads to the downstairs toilet.

“In that case I thank you very much too. I’ll see you at breakfast then. The dogs will go out at seven. Any time after that is fine.”

She makes a face at ‘seven’, laughs a little and then turns back to her friends.

....................................

 

In the kitchen Donald has turned the music down low and switched off the main kitchen lights leaving only a standard lamp in the corner. He snuggles into one of the armchairs. A borrowed coat, he thinks of Will’s, over his knees.

Alana comes in from the mud room, shaking her hair a little, because of the rain.

“It’s no good. Bedelia can’t get it started. She thinks it might be the damp. Do you know if Fred drove? Have you seen Will?”

“Outside. Checking on all the tent people. Making sure it’s not leaking. If I were you I’d commandeer a bed or chair and find a blanket. I’ll tell Bedelia. I told Molson to use the single upstairs. He might have had to evict someone. But you know. Age before everything else.”

“Are you all right Dean?”

“Quite happy Alana. And the Rayburn is well provided for. Off you go. We’ll let others fend for themselves why don’t we.”

She disappears through the door into the hallway. Donald closes his eyes. He doesn’t open them when he hears someone come through the door.

“If you’re going out for God’s sake shut the front door after you. And take a coat. It’s pouring down.”

There’s no answer but the outer door is opened and closed quietly. He turns and shuffles down further into the coat. Yawns.

..................................

When Will comes into the kitchen he turns the music off completely but leaves the light. He smiles at Donald’s sleeping form. He’d met Bedelia out in the garden explaining about the car. She’d opted to go back to it and make use of her emergency kit stored in the boot.

“I’ll come in for breakfast. Would that be acceptable? About seven?”

He’d smiled. “Sure you don’t want me to try a jump start?” She’d looked like she was considering it but had sighed. “No. Let’s wait for the morning, and hopefully it will have cleared by then. Alana’s gone in. Donald said he’d get Molson sorted. I’m content. It’s not perfect but if you help me put down the back seats I can curl up. And no one is likely to disturb me out here.”

“Unlike the rest of the house you mean? Probably. Let’s deal with the seats.”

It hadn’t taken long and he’d used the opportunity of the walk back to the house to bring in several more logs from the store beside the front door.

He opens the door of the Rayburn and pushes two logs inside then closes it as quietly as he can. He’s a little relieved when Donald stirs in his chair but doesn’t wake.

.......................................

In the sitting room he finds Hannibal still in conversation with Frederick. There are several people nodding in armchairs or curled up in a rug near a dog. He comes and sits on the floor in front of them between Fred and the fire.

“Bedelia’s car won’t start. Donald’s asleep in the kitchen. What are you going to do Fred. Did you drive? Or Garret? You’re very welcome to stay. If Hannibal moves you can even co-opt the sofa.”

Frederick blinks at him and then yawns. “Decent of you. I’ve no idea where Garret is, I haven’t seen him for ages. He took his churlishness off somewhere. I’m sorry about it Will, if I’d realised I’d have told him to chuck it.”

Will smiles. “Not to worry. At least not at this hour. Breakfast after seven. If you go through the kitchen..”

“Yes. Yes. Don’t wake Donald. Though with any luck he’ll sleep all the way through until lunch. He should be exhausted. All that dancing. All right. If Garret appears we might make it out before dawn. Otherwise...” He yawns again and then bends to undo his laces and slide of his shoes. As Hannibal and Will leave the room he takes off his jacket and reverses it and then slides it over his upper half like a small and somewhat inadequate blanket. He shunts a cushion behind his head and gives all semblance of readiness to at least try to sleep.

Neither Hannibal or Will speak as they traverse the stairs. At the top Hannibal unlocks his door and says a quiet goodnight. Will smiles and then heads towards the bathroom. A short while later, having completed his ablutions he unlocks his own door and then closes and locks it behind him. He turns the key in the wardrobe door and pulls it open. Then he sits on the edge of his bed and waits.

........................................

 

When Hannibal steps over the sill of the wardrobe Will stands and goes to him, and helps him navigate the doors.

“I thought you might change your mind. The events of the evening being.. well...”

“You heard? Will, I am very sorry..”

Will smiles and draws him closer to the bed by their linked hands. Once there he reaches down to the bedside table and picks up his note book.

“Let me reassure you I have already come up with some decent points to devastate your central thesis.”

Hannibal takes the book and then looks at the journal on the table. He doesn’t read either. Rather he sits and then weighs it in his hand and then looks up at Will.

“I fear this means someone sent you this.”

Will sits beside him on the bed.

“I think they did. Donald was testing theories as to whom against any ideas I might have. We couldn’t decide. Want to pitch in?”

“And you’ve forgiven me?”

“Well it was hardly a betrayal. And don’t they say that betrayal and forgiveness are akin to falling in love? Let’s just say ‘oh look, our first argument! And oh, what fun, we had it before all our colleagues and friends.’”

“I hope you know I would have said the same things even if I’d known it was by you?”

Will smiles and stands again. “God I hope so. You’d be a poor thing if something as small as this was an inconvenience.”

“Any compassion for you would be an inconvenience. Or at least for your argument. What were you thinking?”

Will laughs quietly and then leans down and kisses him. “Would it be acceptable to say that at this moment I am not thinking of my argument in the slightest.” He kisses him again. “Just other kinds of slippery evasion.”

Hannibal stands and pulls Will closer. “Or other kinds of slippery-ness which I hope won’t involve evasion.”

He holds Will by the neck as he did in the morning. Just a one handed clasp at the base of his skull. 

“Shall you take off these things? You’re more than a little damp.”

He keeps his hold as Will unbuttons his shirt and then pulls it off and throws it without ceremony over a chair back. He keeps it when Will undoes his belt and draws it out of the loops and then drops it where he stands. He keeps it when Will unbuttons the fly of his trousers and pushes them off to puddle round his feet. “And the rest.”

Will pauses and then pushes down his boxer shorts over his half hard cock. Hannibal glances down his body and then runs one hand down Will’s chest, brushing a nipple as he goes. Will makes a small noise so Hannibal bends and laps at it. His tongue pointed and searching. Will rests a hand on Hannibal’s head, almost a mirror of the grasp he has on him. He tips his chin back as Hannibal kisses up his throat.

“What would you have Will?”

“Come to bed Hannibal. Come to bed, and enjoy me. And I’ll enjoy you.”

Hannibal smiles and bites gently against the rasp of his jaw. “Perfect. Go to the bed?”

He lets Will go and watches him as he pulls the blankets and sheets back, and then lays down on it, tucking one hand behind his head and using the other to lazily stroke himself. Hannibal smiles and then watches Will watch him undress. His jumper and shirt and then his trousers laid over Will’s own. He slips his underwear down and then watches the hunger catch in Will’s eyes.

In bed Will is forthright in his pleasure, and generous in his loving. As he opens under Hannibal’s incautious fingers he moans and swears and uses his whole body to express his response. Hannibal stops at least twice when he is threatened too early by incipient orgasm. And when he fucks into Will in a long hard stroke they both groan and swear. He had thought to take it slowly, to relish every pliant shudder and arch of Will’s back. But he’s tight around him, and the heat and desire they document between them throws any caution to the wind. In the end he fucks into him hard and fast. And when they come, one following shortly after the other they are left tangled and fighting for breath, and maybe composure.

When Hannibal softens he slides out and then supports Will as he lowers his legs to the bed. 

“I didn’t hurt you?”

Will stretches his back and then curls around Hannibal’s side. He lifts his head to enable Hannibal to put an arm round him and hold him close.

“Not at all. Only in a good way.”

“Yes? I fear I am very out of practice.” He kisses the top of Will’s head and then his face, and then he leans over him properly and presses against his mouth until Will opens to him again and deepens the kiss. Will turns into him more and reaches up to cup Hannibal’s jaw.

“Utterly perfect. And I hope something we shall repeat as often as we might.”

Hannibal murmurs against his mouth.

“We shall. Either here or perhaps occasionally in College.”

“Here’s better. Where there is no one here to mind or notice. Where you can come and go as you like. I’ll show you where the spare key is kept. Yes?”

Hannibal moves to cover him with his body and settle again between Will’s legs. As they kiss Hannibal reaches down between Will’s legs and gently fingers him again, pushing his ejaculate back inside. Will squirms under his touch and whimpers. 

“Oh God. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sensitive. I haven’t. For a long while.”

Hannibal stills his hand. “Too much?”

Will shakes his head urgently. “No. Not too much. Just. I’d forgotten how good it is. After.”

“My Will. My lovely Will. I think we will not have time again today. But I promise we shall soon.”

Will sighs. “You’re going back to your room aren’t you?”

“To preserve the proprieties? Yes. Do you mind?” He gently circles with his fingers once more and pushes in with one, Will arches his back involuntarily.

“Fuck, that’s good. I don’t. Well.. A little. But no. If I’ve got you.” He kisses Hannibal gently, strokes along his jaw. Hannibal eases his finger in a little more and then out, and then again, and encourages the kiss.

“You have me.”

.................................

In the morning Hannibal checks the window and sees no sign of Will in the garden or of the dogs. He checks the small alarm clock on the bookcase and sees it is just before seven. Well then. He settles on the wooden upright chair and takes the time to say the morning office. Just before he gets to the third collect there’s a knock on his door.

He unlocks it and then opens it to find one of the women students.

“May I help?”

“Dr Graham says could you come. It’s a bit urgent. Sorry. Dr Du Maurier is in an awful state. Please.”

He pulls his jumper from where it had been sat on the desk and pulls it over his head.

“Of course. Of course.” He follows her down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Inside Bedelia is sat at the table, clearly distressed, her head resting in her hands. Will is white faced and looks shaken, leaning hard against the kitchen counter and Donald Sutcliffe is frowning, perhaps at having been woken so early. There are a few students present too. He’s not sure who they are. 

“Will? Bedelia?”

Bedelia looks up, it’s possible she has been crying.

“Oh god. Hannibal.”

She swallows but can’t seem to manage further. Will sighs and wipes a hand over his face.

“Hannibal, thank God, Damn. We thought...” He shakes a little, and his voice trembles as he sighs. “Would you mind, could you possibly call the police. There’s a phone on the stairs? You know where? There’s a body in the stream. Bedelia found him this morning.”

Hannibal’s eyes widen. “Do you know who?”

Bedelia gasps. “I thought it was you. He’s wearing your coat. The new one.”

“It isn’t me. Are you sure he’s dead?”

She shudders. “Yes. He was face down in the water. There’s blood on his head. God.”

Donald coughs and then draws a breath and asserts. “Make some tea. You. Ms McClane. Make some tea, there’s a good lass. Hannibal go and call the boys in blue. Will? Get everyone downstairs, next door if there’s room. Use the back door to get people in from the tent, it’s the nearest. Make sure no one leaves.”

Will sighs. “All right Donald. God.” He pushes carefully past Hannibal and goes out of the kitchen towards the sitting room, Hannibal follows him into the hallway and closes the door. When Will puts his hand to the latch Hannibal catches him by the arm and pulls him close. Will clutches him desperately.

“I thought it was you. She showed me. I thought it was you. We thought your room would be empty. I couldn’t.. I had to ask Margot.”

He strokes the back of Will’s hair, holds him equally tightly.

“It isn’t me. My lovely Will. It isn’t.”

They pull apart slowly and stare a little at an unlooked for redemption.

“Who the hell is it then?” 

Hannibal shakes his head. “I’ll make the call. You had better do Donald’s bidding.”

They clasp each other tightly once again and then go their separate ways in answer to Donald’s sudden reasserted authority. Absolute and clear.

...........................


	7. Chapter 7

Alana Bloom puts the kettle on for what feels like the umpteenth time. Next to her on the counter top there are any number of bowls, glasses and pans that have clearly been used for cereal. It seems as though every spoon in the house has also been co-opted. Hannibal watches as Will starts to fill the sink with hot water from the tap and move things round on the drainer to clear it just a little. He picks up a tea-towel from the dresser and moves to stand between the two of them to begin the process of drying up the things that Will washes.

From their vantage point all three of them can see down to the bottom of the garden to where the police have erected a large white plastic SOC tent. It has been a trying and upsetting morning. Still ensconced in the armchair Donald asks.

“Did they say when we’d be allowed to leave Will? Your house is a delight but there’s a reason I live in a city not in the middle of nowhere.”

Will turns his head towards him and sighs.

“The Inspector said they needed to talk to everyone one to one before they left. I’m sorry Donald, they don’t seem to be doing it by seniority. I did tell her Sergeant. He had a bit of a run in with one of the post-grads. Insisted he had to be back for chapel. Singing. I phoned Eldon. Told him he’ll be out at least one baritone and an alto. He wasn’t best pleased. More so when he realised he’d missed the party. Perhaps less so when I told him what had happened.”

He looks at Hannibal. Hannibal can see the violet smudges under Will’s eyes. He looks tired and stressed. And worried. No one wants a violent death in their garden, nor at their own party. This year’s event will be remembered by everyone for all the wrong reasons.

“It could still be an accident? Couldn’t it?”

Will looks at Alana.

“I really don’t know. All she’d say is that he may have drowned. And may have been hit first. The water is messing with their forensics.”

The door from the hall opens and Frederick and Bedelia come through. Bedelia, still looking pale, takes the vacant armchair by the Rayburn and Frederick sits at one of the uprights at the table. He leans on it hard.

“Have they said who it is yet?”

Hannibal, just for a moment lays a hand on Will’s shoulder, who flashes him a grateful look, and then turns to the group.

“Not everyone has been accounted for yet. There’s some disagreement amongst the students over who was still here and who had either left or planned to. Of the College everyone seems to have gone. There aren’t any cars on the lane or on the gravel apart from Bedelia’s and Will’s vehicles.”

The kettle whistles and Alana switches off the burner and picks up the tea caddy from the small tray next to the cooker where Will keeps the bags and sugar.

“I’m going to make tea. Again. Will, could you find out if any of the police want something? They won’t mind if you go out will they? Fred. I’m sorry could you ask next door? What are we going to do about getting people back to town?”

“Alana, could you find me some coffee? Instant is fine. Will, you must have some somewhere? Yes? Right. I phoned the Master earlier. There’s bound to be some coverage in the press and the College needs to be ready for it. Yes, I know. We’ll have to talk about how best to manage Ms Lounds. Anyway. He’s getting Kathryn to organise a bus or something to come. Once we know what the Inspector has in mind. Thank you my dear.” Donald accepts the mug from Alana and then indicates when enough milk is added. “Bedelia? He’s going to ask Kathryn to send the AA or RAC or someone. Jump start your car or fiddle with the solenoid. What ever it is. Will could you ask the police whether that at least is acceptable. Hannibal have you phoned Anthony? He’ll need to come up with something for this evening if we don’t make it back for Evensong.”

“Wasn’t he here last night?”

Will shrugs. “I don’t know. He might have been. I don’t remember seeing him. But I could just as easily have missed him.”

“I saw him. He came out on the last train with the stragglers. They all slogged across the field just before the rain got going in earnest.” Bedelia looks throughly miserable as she says. “It can’t be him can it? Unless he’s out in the teepee?” 

Will shakes his head. “Just students. Next door? No. I didn’t think I’d seen him.” 

Fred takes a mouthful of the tea Alana gives him and then makes a face “Sugar? Thank you.” He stirs two spoonfuls into his mug then takes another sip and slumps a little over the table. “It could be anyone. We just don’t know who left with who last night. God. That’s a horrible bit of following up, we don’t even know who was here.”

A few moments later Hannibal and Alana watch through the window as Will goes down the garden towards the stream and the small huddle of police gathered beside the willow. As he gets closer two of the officers detach themselves from the group and walk towards him.

“Dr Graham? I gather mobile coverage is patchy. Do you have a landline we might use? We’ll keep a record of calls and issue you a receipt.”

Will smiles a little at the Inspector. She seems very competent and on the ball. But really he’s not entirely sure what that actually looks like. Out here he doesn’t have a television and his internet provider is equal to very limited bandwidth, so tv detective fiction is not really his first choice of an evening. Of course he’s read the classics of the English detective genre but that’s not exactly reliable as an indicator of contemporary police behaviour. Probably. Nor is he minded to be an amateur sleuth of the noble variety. Unlike Donald there are plenty of reasons he has chosen to live out here in the silent green.

“Yes. Sorry. If your folks go up the lane towards the railway bridge you can usually get a signal there. Maybe not three bars but something. I’ve been sent to ask if you want tea? And if we can have the car guy in to look at Dr Du Maurier’s car?” He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “And lastly the Dean has spoken with the Master. He’d like to be able to send a bus or something to collect the kiddies. Sorry. All the students. Would that be all right? I think some of my colleagues would be glad to know when they might leave too. One of them is preaching this evening. It’s some big deal. I didn’t ask. Not my bag.”

Inspector Katz eyes him, not without some sympathy for his predicament. A party. An uncertain guest list. A body in the stream. Not a lovely way to end an evening. Or start a morning.

“Sergeant Crawford can let you know when we can release everyone. I’d like to come and speak to the Dean. St. Frideswide is it. I don’t know him, or her. I do however know the Master. Enough to have a conversation at least. All right? Jack? Can you get on with the list of whoever’s left, and see if any of them have any additional bright ideas of attendees. Whether they’re still here or not. Yes?”

“Ma’am. What shall I tell Dr. Price?”

They both turn back towards the tent. And she hums a little.

“Tell him to let me know when they’re ready to move him. Dr Graham? Will you be able to do an I.D?”

“If it’s someone I know. Yes. Of course.”

The Sergeant gives him a look that speaks volumes and the three of them make their way back up the lawn.

Near the top Will steps to one side and reaches towards the open log store.

“Can I get some more wood? It’s just for the Rayburn. The rain yesterday? It’s a little cold and damp inside.”

The Sergeant huffs a laugh.

“Them’s a bugger if they go out. Want me to help? All right with you ma’am?”

He holds out his arms and Will lays half a dozen lengths across them. The Inspector smiles when the Sergeant can’t help himself. “You want to get a nice gas burner. Off the grid here? Get a tank why don’t you?”

Will sighs as he opens the front door. “I’ve a small one for the cooker. But, you know how it is. The house is graded. I had enough of a row about putting the attic in. And the rates were a nightmare.”

“Yaas? Close to the railway isn’t it? Did they raise a ruckus?”

“Said it was too close. I had to point out that the house was here maybe 300 years before the railway was.”

The Sergeant sniffs. “Different times.” Inside the kitchen everyone either stands or sits a little straighter to meet their new acquaintances. Will points out the space beside the Rayburn where the wood is stacked and the Sergeant goes to drop his bundle there.

“Everyone this is Detective Inspector Katz. Her kind colleague is Sergeant Crawford. I’ll let her tell you what’s what. The only systematics I can manage are the theological kind. The logistics of this are currently beyond me.” He shakily runs a hand through his hair again and then takes off his glasses and cleans them. He’s not wearing lenses Hannibal suddenly realises. If anything his eyes are even bluer than usual. He shifts along the counter to make a clear space for Will, and when he comes and stands beside him he darts him a brief relieved glance. Hannibal has to resist the very strong temptation to put an arm round him. He suspects Will is resisting a need to lean on him.

The inspector is about to make a start when her Sergeant says urgently.

“Ma’am... here in the wood pile. This looks like blood..”

Bedelia and Donald immediately get up from their armchairs and move away from the chimney nook that the Rayburn is in. The Inspector moves closer and then peers over Crawford’s shoulder. She’s quiet for a long moment.

“Go and get Jimmy, Jack. And maybe one of the SOCOs too. Zeller’s handy, see if he’s free.” She stands and turns to the group.

“Anyone bring in wood this morning?”

Miserably both Alana and Will raise hesitant hands.

“And I don’t suppose either of you would recognise what bits you brought in?”

Will sounds almost tearful when he says. “I could tell you about one bit. I was sat round whittling, maybe a week ago. There was a nasty knot in the grain. I couldn’t work round it, gave it up as a bad job. Sorry. Long story short. If it’s not gone in the stove it’ll still be there.”

The Inspector nods and looks back at the pile beside the stove. Hard for her to tell. One of the geeks will have to collect them all.

“All right. I’m sorry. We’ll have to put the stove out. You got any other fires lit? Next door?”

“I’ll show you. It’s not alight now. It was last night. Are you ok with dogs?”

The Inspector follows Will out of the kitchen. Sergeant Crawford looks at everyone else still stood around.

“Well. This is part of the scene now. I’m sorry. We’ll have to find you somewhere else to wait. I understand the teepee is rain proof. Perhaps there.” He frowns a little at Donald. “We can take a chair.”

Donald sighs. “Lead on Sergeant. Needs must.”

“I’m no devil Sir. But the D.I? If she’s crossed?” He shakes his head. “Gives me the Willard Wiggins.”

........................................

 

The bus arrives to take the students and a few members of Faculty and College Staff early in the afternoon. Sergeant Crawford ticks them all off a list as they get on one by one. Some of them still grumbling. Bedelia’s usual mechanic has been prevailed on to come out even though it is a Sunday. He mutters something about in-laws and proper dinner and no one can tell if it is a complaint or not. Bedelia at least maintains her composure about it, her credit with him apparently good enough to warrant the call out. 

Inspector Katz makes her way to the teepee and finds a fairly disconsolate bunch in there. Frederick is quiet, perhaps realising that any lamentation about his lost lift will not be welcomed or viewed charitably. He may also have realised that if anyone is to claim the extra space in Bedelia’s car it is likely to be Hannibal, in order to make it back in time to preach at Evensong. He thinks it rather unlikely that anyone might be so moved as to swap out for him. Perhaps he might ask the police. They would at least get him as far as Kidlington. And there are buses from there. Even on a Sunday.

Donald has been unanimously given the best chair they were permitted to take outside and the rest have uprights from around the parts of the house they have been allowed to denude.

She looks round them. She knows there will be secrets and lies told, that almost certainly there have been already. Not always by intent, sometimes memory, or perception, or even belief have a part to play in all manner of deceptions.

“Dr. Graham? Might we borrow you please. Our Medical Examiner is ready to move the body. Would you come and look?”

As he leaves with her he doesn’t look at any of the others, though they all follow him with their eyes. Half an hour later when the Sergeant comes to tell them they might, with the usual stipulations, all go, he is still not returned. 

...................................

 

Late that evening Hannibal walks with a degree of determination across the quad. His sermon, he suspects was not one of his best, though Anthony had been flattering and Donald approving. The Faculty members who had been left behind have slowly been putting together, mostly by a process of elimination, who it couldn’t have been, and why Will has not been returned to them. 

Anthony, it transpires, had walked to the main road and hitched back at what he’d smugly described as a godly hour. His Good Samaritan had turned out to be a member of the Salvation Army and they had disagreed happily all the forty minute drive back into the city. Garret is discovered to be back at home, out of College, with his reluctant wife and grumpy teenage daughter. He claims simply to have been missed in the morning’s kerfuffle and to have been given a lift by someone leaving before the breakfast rush. 

What has happened to Will though remains unclear. In the end Alana offers to go back out to the house to check on the dogs as no one has answered his landline, nor his mobile, though no one it seems, when Hannibal enquires, is surprised by either of these things.

In the Dean’s lodgings Donald opens the door to his friend and ushers him into his sitting room.

“Sit. Sit. Sherry first? Amontillado? Good man. And I know you’re fizzing. I’ll tell you what I know in a moment. For goodness sake Hannibal stop looming. Sit down.”

Hannibal manages to sit on the edge of the overstuffed chair that Donald points him to. Normally he finds Donald’s living arrangements rather pleasing to the eye and soothing to the temperament. Not today. Today they seem somewhat over done and fussy. He accepts the delicate glass with a tight look.

“Now. Hannibal I want you to hear everything I have to say first. Before you go off the deep end. Right? The Master has phoned the Inspector’s Superior. I managed to persuade him to not to call the Assistant Chief Constable, told him that won’t help anyone and will just annoy Katz. Who by the way I’ve been hearing nothing but good things about. So. There’s a thing. Don’t fuss. I’m getting there. I’m afraid Will was questioned because the victim was known to him, and unfortunately there’s a bit of history there. He was very up front with them, and they’ve released him. So he should be back home this evening. I spoke to the Sergeant. He says the house has been released now, mainly because the combination of the weather and the sheer number of people trampling through it have made it a forensic nightmare. I think they did what they could with the log store and the Rayburn. And I’m rather afraid it was your coat the victim was wearing. It’s evidence apparently. You can collect the contents of the pockets ‘at your convenience’, from the City station, you won’t have to go out to Kidlington. Different branch of course, but they do cooperate somewhat.”

“Who was the body? If not Garrett or Anthony? And I’ve heard nothing about any student not turning up to supper.”

Donald rubs his own glass of sherry along his top lip. Hannibal recognises it as a characteristic gesture that he employs when he is playing for time.

“Slightly complicated back story. And I’d want to start by saying that Will was cleared of absolutely any wrong doing or inappropriate behaviour. So. The dead man was a former post-doc of his. A man called Matthew Brown. Ahh. I see you’ve heard of him? Will tell you? He usually does. In case someone else gets there first. Oh dear.”

Yes, Hannibal thinks, oh dear indeed. And even that is something of an understatement. Quite a big one in fact.

..............................

When he returns to his rooms in College Hannibal tries Will’s landline and then his mobile number. Both of them go to an answering machine. He checks the clock on the mantelpiece in his sitting room and finds it is only just after eleven. There is just the faintest chance that Will has taken the dogs out for a walk. Even at this darkling hour. Or he may well have switched the ringer down or even off, in particular if the news has spread at all he may have decided to hermit it out.

He powers on his tablet and connects to the College’s WiFi. He’s faintly conscious that if Will has been questioned, both his telephone and electronic communication may be subject to some scrutiny, so he decides not to email. Really he knows nothing of the legal system in England except that it’s different to Scotland. Possibly. And is subject to some but not all European Legislation and jurisprudence. He must ask Mischa. She will know. Or will know someone who does.

He navigates to the local train and bus timetables and discovers that the first train out in the morning leaves at 05:35. Not ideal, as really he’d prefer to go now, but better than nothing. He sets the alarm on the tablet for 4:30 and sends a note to one of his students with whom he is due to have a tutorial at ten the following day. It is his only appointment and might easily be deferred. At the moment all that really matters, to his mind, is Will.

After the usual round he remembers, just before he sleeps, to offer a prayer for the repose of the soul of Matthew Brown, and tries for something approaching understanding and a modicum of compassion for whomsoever was a part of his untimely demise. It’s a struggle, and he sighs over it. It is never enough to preach love if you do not practice it.

He switches off his bedside light, and turns over. Thinks of Will. His Will. 

.........................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We moved house. I have unpacked the books.
> 
> I am prostrated.
> 
> But cheery.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who sent kind wishes...


	8. Chapter 8

The station concourse is only dimly lit when he arrives in the morning. There is no one to accept any money at the shuttered ticket office windows so he makes use of one of the many ticket machines dotted around the waiting area, pleased that he has enough change for it as it doesn’t like his card. A widely yawning guard sees him through the automatic barrier and explains that the platform is different to the usual one at this hour of the morning.

The train has only a few people on it, scattering themselves throughout the three carriages that the network has seen fit to put on. Tucking themselves into collars and scarves. Nevertheless the train pulls out on time and a guard comes round to clip his ticket, and twenty minutes later he disembarks when they arrive. With the loss of his coat to the forensic laboratory of the Thames Valley Police he is glad it is not raining and though the earth is muddy underfoot he makes his way steadily across the two fields.

As he gets closer he can see that smoke is coming from one of the chimney stacks. When he arrives at the front door it is already propped open. Someone else who perhaps struggled to sleep. He still knocks, and two of the dogs rush out to greet him when Will, wearing only an old tee shirt and cotton knit boxers, pulls open the inner door from the kitchen.

Neither of them say anything for a moment, and then Will steps into his arms, and he tucks his head into the crook of Hannibal’s neck as they tighten around him. He holds on and it seems, for several long moments that neither of them can bring themselves to let go.

Hannibal strokes through his hair.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of a way to get out here last night. I tried to call, but there was no reply. I’m so sorry Will.”

“I didn’t expect you to. God it’s such a mess. I was just going to let the dogs out. You should come in.”

He disengages sufficiently to draw them both back into the kitchen, Hannibal keeping one hand on his hip, to let Will steer them by.

At the stove, Will turns the burner on to boil the kettle. And then leans harder against Hannibal.

“I wasn’t here last night because I had to take Molson back.”

“Professor Verger? I don’t understand.”

“We missed him. Or the police did. Or something. I don’t know. Alana left me note to say she’d dropped by and let the dogs run around. She found Fred still here. Apparently Matthew brought him and Garret out. I thought he’d driven or Garret had. He says not. I don’t know.”

“But there was no car left?”

“I know. I’ve already called the police. I didn’t work it out until this morning. Sergeant Crawford did a lot of grumbling. I think he might have been up all night.”

“So where is Dr. Brown’s car?”

Will shrugs. “Something else, in the long list of things I don’t know, that I don’t know!”

“Did Alana explain what Fred thought he was doing. Why didn’t he say anything? Or go back on the bus with the students? Or with Bedelia? We had space. Oh. Of course that should have been Molson.”

“She must have thought he’d gone. Or someone said he had. Anyway. He hadn’t. And Alana didn’t find him. Just Fred. Though why either of them would have have snooped around, I don’t know that either. So maybe it’s not so surprising.”

“So where was the professor?”

“He was asleep!! I got back here just before 8. Messed around with the dogs. Started to make something to eat and he just wandered into the kitchen. Turned out he’d had a good long snooze in the morning. Then a bath. Then he pottered around a bit through the late afternoon. Settled in with a book. You know what he’s like. Fell asleep. Didn’t see or hear anyone or anything. Just came down because he decided he was a bit peckish. Scared the beejesus out of me. I thought everyone had gone.”

“And you took him home.”

“Poor old soul. Yes. I explained as best I could. You know what he said?”

Hannibal shakes his head and moves a little so that Will can drop tea bags into two mugs.

“That Matthew Brown had it coming and going. I told him not to say that to the police. He just snorted.”

Will switches off the burner and fills the two mugs with boiling water and then swishes them around before he decants the tea bags into the compost caddy next to the sink.

“Black Ok? I think all the milk’s gone.”

He moves towards the table but Hannibal nudges him around to one of the armchairs by the re-lit Rayburn and sits and pulls Will into his lap. Will shifts to get comfortable, made harder by holding two mugs of tea. Hannibal adjusts him until he is sat with his back to Hannibal’s chest and Hannibal can put both of his arms around his waist. Will leans back a little, against his shoulder, he lets out a long breath and sighs. Hannibal kisses his neck gently.

“Like this. Lovely. Thank you.” He takes one of the mugs and then a mouthful of tea. He watches as Will does the same. “And what happened with the Inspector?”

“I knew it was him straight away. And I’m sorry about your coat. He must have borrowed it because of the rain.”

“It couldn’t matter less. Go on.” 

He takes another sip of the tea, and then kisses Will’s neck again, his mouth warmer and wetter. Will makes a pleased noise. 

“I told her who he was and that he’d been my student. And then, like a bit of an idiot, I told her we’d fallen out rather badly. She just nodded and carried on asking me a few things. Where he lived, had I invited him, who he’d come with. That sort of thing. Nothing to it.” 

He swallows some of his own tea and Hannibal drinks more of his. Then kisses Will’s neck again, down to the junction with his shoulder where his tee shirt is riding up. 

“Then one of her guys came back. I hadn’t really noticed he’d gone. He must have phoned someone I suppose. Whispered in her in ear and she straight up asked me to come to the station with her. God. I should have come and told you. I was so surprised. I hardly knew what was going on. I’m such an idiot.” 

Hannibal smiles against his neck. “Hardly that. Surprised? Yes. Shocked even. Violent death is shocking. Especially when it is someone you know.” 

Will shudders slightly. 

“God. Matthew Brown. Still fucking with me even in death. Unbelievable. You know the story? Oh. I know. You were there weren’t you?” 

“In Berne? Yes. I admit that until he and I spoke there I had thought it possible you might be interested.” 

Will squirms round and looks at him.

“You’re kidding? Is that why..? Shit. He really was fucking me around. God. The bastard. Fuck. I pined so badly after that conference. What did he say to you? No wait. That I was flirting to make him jealous?”

“So you were flirting? I had wondered. Possibly even hoped.”

Will sighs and despite the awkward twist he kisses him. Then rests his forehead against the side of Hannibal’s head.

“And of course you couldn’t ask me. I’m sorry he’s dead. But I’m not sorry he’s out of my hair. What changed that then? Oh. Ok. Donald?”

Hannibal smiles and drains his tea and then leans to one side to put the mug on the floor.

“Actually no. Someone else convinced me your interest lay elsewhere. Have you finished your tea?”

Will shifts a little and finishes his mug, Hannibal smiles and takes it from him and then places it next to his own.

“Good. Better? Did you have anything to drink or eat last night? Hmm. I thought so.” He kisses against Will’s neck again and slides one hand up along the inside of Will’s thigh. “You’re cold. I have a suggestion?” He moves his hand just a little so his fingers brush inside Will’s shorts, just at the smooth area where his leg meets his groin, he strokes along the soft crease. 

“You’re distracting me.”

“Would you like me to?”

“Is that a trick question? Hannibal? What are you.. Oh. Oh. Fuck.”

He swallows hard as Hannibal pushes his hand all the way into Will’s shorts and cups his cock and balls and squeezes. And then mouths wetly at Will’s neck.

“Let me take you to bed and look after you. Distract you if need be. Then we can sleep. Or talk about Inspector Katz. Anything. Will you let me?”

He fondles Will and feels his cock harden under his fingers. Then sucks a small bruise below where he has nudged aside the neck of the tee shirt. Will jerks under his hand and makes a small noise, then stretches so he is lying more along Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal smiles. He pulls his hand out from the leg of Will’s shorts and then simply pushes them down and takes a firmer grip on Will’s cock. And pulls on him until Will is breathing much harder and seems unsure what to do with his own hands. He settles for tightening them on the arm Hannibal has circled round his waist to hold him as he steadily jerks him off. He moans quietly when Hannibal whispers in his ear. “Shall I bring you off here and then take you upstairs and fuck you? I think you liked it when you were sensitive after you came.” 

Will gasps and then moans and manages to stumble out an explanation. 

“I sometimes have a secondary orgasm. If it’s really intense. I have to not think about anything. Just get lost in it. It only happens if I’ve already come and my prostate is still... Oh. Fuck. Do that again. Oh god. Hannibal. Please.”

He tightens his grip and uses everything Will is leaking and oathing his way through to improve the slip and slide and twist of his grasp. 

“I’m close. Oh god. Hannibal. Fuck.”

He jerks again. A whole body shake, and comes apart in Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal kisses him hard and then pulls him shaking and stumbling out of the kitchen and up the short flight of stairs to the bedroom where he strips them both, uses the lubrication still on the bedside table from the night of the party, opens Will up, barely coherent and desperate, and then fucks him from behind as Will sobs his way to a second orgasm. More intense and much louder than the first. When Hannibal comes he pulls out carefully and pushes Will to the bed and pulls the covers over them both. They’re both asleep within minutes, utterly spent. It is barely even seven o’clock.

....................................

 

In the morgue, Inspector Katz looks at her bagman and then at the Medical Examiner, and then Zeller, the SOCO she is usually least annoyed by.

“Well this is a right fuckwad. Drowned not bludgeoned?”

Jimmy Price sighs. “Sorry Beverly. If he’d been pulled straight out he’d have probably made it.”

“And he wasn’t held down?”

“To help him along? If he was we can’t prove it. The blow was probably enough to give him a minor concussion. But it’s hard to tell. But he’s got water in his lungs. He was still breathing when he went in.”

“So it’ll be manslaughter. If we get him.”

Jimmy shrugs again, and smiles a little when Zeller asks.

“How’s the timeline coming along? Even better. How’s the suspect pool?”

Jack Crawford grumbles at him.

“Suspect pool is bad enough. We don’t even know if he was the intended victim.”

Jimmy looks at the Inspector. 

“Really? Who are the other candidates?”

She sighs and then nods towards her Sergeant.

“Tell them Jack. I’m hoping hearing someone else say it might give me an idea.”

He nods at her. They talk like this, back and forwards, all the time. She’s good like that, listens, asks, thinks. He knows he’s lucky, and if he’s even luckier he’ll finish out his time on the force with her. He gives a small smile at the M.E.

“Could have been the intended victim all along. Brown made himself unpopular because he claimed plagiarism from one of the other faculty, and that the offending academic had used an affair to first get the idea out of him, and then try and use it to keep him quiet. Gay jobby, could have lost the academic his job as well as his reputation. And possibly the next step in his career. He’s being considered for some senior position. The gay thing could’ve cost him it. ‘Moral turpitude’.”

“Dean.” 

“Yeah. That’s it. Dean. We met the outgoing bloke. He retires end of the year. So. Brown. Made himself unpopular all around. So. Yeah.” 

He pauses a moment. Collecting his thoughts. 

“The bloke he accused. It’s his house. Everyone seems to like him. You met him. Dr Graham. There was an investigation. In the College. We had a look see, because he claimed Graham threatened him. Anyway. Complicated story. Lots of people weighed in. Someone left in high dudgeon. He’s trying to come back. Applied for the Chair that the foreign guy got. Or was a candidate. I don’t know. It’s his coat.”

“One of Drew’s. Lovely bit of work. Danish. I don’t suppose he’ll want it back. Shame. Cost a bomb too.”

The two police look at Jimmy Price and Crawford frowns again.

“Right. Anyways. Means that someone might have thought the victim was him. Dr Hannibal Lecter. US citizen, though he’s European originally. He’s some kind of nobility too. Just here on some year long fellowship. They all seem to know each other. He’s a vicar of some kind. Episcopalian I think. The Reverend Doctor Count. It was him we had to get back last night because he was preaching.”

Zeller and Price exchange a look. Oh good. Religion and college politics and a title. They just need someone off the local council and they’ll have the full endeavour.

“You finished making eyes at each other? Ok. So. Brown. Lecter. But. Could have been a couple of others too. Four other folks fit the right sort of build and height and wotnot. Lecter’s actually the outlier as he’s taller and broader. But it is his coat. So, possibles, Dr Graham himself. Because of the mess with Brown? Or because he’s in the running for this job. Though apparently only the Master and current Dean know that, and maybe him. But we all know how that goes. Yaaas. So maybe the College Chaplain. Dimmond. Anthony Dimmond. Saw him earlier. God he’s an annoying twonk. Very pleased with himself. I’d top him just for being a git. Yeah. Sorry Ma’am. Who else?” 

He consults a mental list. 

“Two others that everyone knew would be at the party. Garrett Hobbs and Frederick Chilton. Also on the faculty. Also both in the running for the job. Brown was Chilton’s student, a ‘post-doc’. Though what the fuck that is I don’t know. Don’t these people ever want to work for a living? So, might still be connected to that business. Or something else. He was all over the place yesterday. Sent someone to try and get a better statement this afternoon. Last one is Hobbs. He’s a bit of an oddball. Family man. Lives out of College. Wife and daughter. Wants this job very badly, but it sounds like it usually goes to single men, yeah sorry ma’am, it’s entailed, men only, they tried to challenge it a few years ago when the current Dean got the job. She’s on the staff too. Laughed when I asked her about it. So. Don’t know. That’s it I reckon.”

“And not one of the students?”

Jack sticks his bottom lip out at Zeller and shakes his head.

“They seem to have all stuck together like bits of velcro. Don’t think you could prise them apart. Though I suppose it’s possible. Coat’s the sticker though. Bit too old fashioned for most of them. Three quarter car coat kind of length. Though if it was only a borrow?” He chews meditatively on his bottom lip.

Jimmy suggest. “It is Oxford. And the cost wouldn’t deter some of them.”

“Suppose that an’ all. Anyways isn’t this enough to be going on with? One actual victim. Five others as possibles? Nightmare to narrow this lot down. It was dark and throwing it down in stair-rods. Any of them could have been the intended.”

He slumps a little. And his Inspector nods at him.

“Good summation though Jack. We know probably who the possible whos are, victim wise. Lots of opportunity. And before you ask, we’re working on the timeline. That’s a thankless task as well. No one agrees with anyone else. Suspect pool isn’t conclusive either. Dr Graham asked about a dozen people and expected everyone else just to hear about it by word of mouth. Regular thing. After Michaelmas, about mid term each year. They turn up by train, or car, or bus, or bicycle, or one pair of thrifty souls walked from Oxford and then went back on the Master’s bus. They’d have walked back too they said. No biggie!”

She smiles brightly. Jimmy pokes her in the arm.

“So. There it is. Endless opportunity, endless list of suspects, lots of means, I mean, a lump of wood, and before you ask it’s useless for prints, though extra cake for you Jack, because it was a good spot on the blood. Might not have even meant to kill him. And the motive is all over the place until we know who was the intended. So, what are we on? Zero for zero.”

The Inspector rolls her eyes.

“If there’s cake, you’re buying Jim. They don’t pay me enough for this shit. Shall we?”

Zeller covers over Dr. Brown returning him to some of the dignity he may have eschewed in his little life.

“I like that you focussed on the important bit Inspector.”

“Cake? Damn straight.”

.......................................

When Will wakes up he discovers that Hannibal is not beside him. The sheets are cool to the touch and Hannibal’s clothes are nowhere to be seen. He has a moment of very faint panic and then mentally clips himself round the ear hole. He’d seen the possessive look on Hannibal’s face, his desire and intent. Felt it too. And god knows how it’s going to work out, but for now? Well, perhaps for now there are other things to worry about.

He gets up out of bed and pulls on a clean pair of boxers and then a pair of long trousers and a button up long sleeved tee shirt with a collar. He feels at the tender spot on his neck and then checks it in a mirror. Yeah. The collar is a good idea. God knows what the rest of the day holds.

He pads down the stairs and pushes open the door into the kitchen. Hannibal is sitting at the table. Alana is standing by the stove cooking eggs. Eggs?

She turns and smiles at him.

“Hello. I’m glad we both had the idea to come out and check on you. Hannibal said you were asleep.”

Will nods and then smiles at Hannibal.

“Kind of you not to wake me. Thank you. You ok?”

Hannibal joins his hands together, links his fingers and rests them on the table. 

“Thank you. Yes. You look rested.”

“Much better. I needed that.” He turns a look on Alana. “Did you bring the eggs? Thank you. And for the dogs yesterday. That was kind.”

She smiles and turns back to the stove.

“Did you get back all right?”

He laughs and launches into an explanation about Molson. She shakes her head in surprise.

“I didn’t see him. And I checked all the rooms upstairs. Fred said he thought he’d heard someone. I think he was too scared to go and look. I suppose that’s understandable in the circumstances.”

“But not you?”

She shrugs and huffs a small laugh.

“Not likely. Where was he? Molson?”

“Apparently he fell asleep in the wing back in the big double room. Reading he said. Some fishing thing of dad’s. God. I better phone him before he reads all about it in the Mail.”

“Donald says Freddie Lounds has been asking round. It’s not impossible she’ll come out here. He said if you want the College to put you up he can make some rooms available.”

Will glances at Hannibal who smiles back blandly.

“It’s a good idea except for the dogs. I’ll take my chances. She can drop by and have tea, I think it’s usually better to head her off at the pass. I’ll sic dad on her. He quite likes her. They came to an ‘understanding’ last time round. God.”

“Might your father be prevailed upon to stay?”

Will laughs. “I can ask. Might even be a good idea. Oh.” He sobers quickly. “You mean... Not just because of Freddie?”

“It occurs to me that if Dr. Brown was not the intended victim then it’s possible you were.”

Alana looks between them. Her eyes widen and she worries at the pan as she switches it off.

“It was your coat wasn’t it? Bedelia said. In the car back. What if it was you?”

“Yes. I had that thought too.”

.............................................

 

Replete with cake and a couple of mugs of the canteen’s best tea Sergeant Crawford collects the box of Dr Lecter’s belongings to take into the city station. Someone should have taken it earlier. But well. Murder investigation? Hard to find a willing body not already over committed. 

He dumps the box on his desk and then checks the contents against the inventory of items. Wallet. Leather coin purse; one of those nice old fashioned shovel things, his dad always liked them. Some theological magazine with post-its sticking out. He flips to the relevant page. Hmm long article. And review. Oh right. By the Dr himself. Makes sense he’d mark his own work. Couple of pens. Notebook. Mobile phone. That’s probably a gonner. He checks it. It doesn’t switch on. He flips open the wallet, mainly to check the notes against the amount it lists. Yeah that’s all right. Checks the credit cards. And then stops. Not the doctor’s cards. Well. Not Dr Lecter’s. Ahh. Shit.

He leaves his room and slides into the Inspector’s just next door.

“Guv?”

Beverley Katz is frowning over something on her laptop, she doesn’t look up at him.

“Jack?”

“Are we sure it’s Lecter’s coat? Because this ain’t his wallet.”

She looks up and holds her hand out to him for it. She checks inside and he then hands her the notebook. She reads a few pages. Then sighs.

“Well. That’s just. Fuck’s sake. Phone him. See if he’s got Lecter’s coat. Tell him we’ve got his coat.”

Jack sniffs. “Don’t change that much. We already reckoned him as a potential victim.”

She nods. “I know. Oh, and you better tell Dr. Lecter we don’t have his stuff after all.”

.........................................

Will comes back into the kitchen. He and Hannibal have just about managed to wait Alana out. She’d eventually left when Will’s father arrived, stomping into the kitchen, ruffling at the dogs heads, all excited to see him, a frequent supplier of treats.

“Dad. It’s ok. Really. I don’t know what Freddie told you.”

His dad frowns at him from one of the uprights round the kitchen table and then holds out an arm. Will sighs and then goes and stands beside him and lets his dad give him a one armed hug round his waist.

“Matthew Brown. That idiot. I hope you’ve got an alibi for whatever time he copped it.”

Will sighs and smiles at Hannibal.

“Not one I can easily use dad. Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure it won’t come to it.”

His dad looks at him and then more shrewdly at Hannibal.

“Like that is it? Well, I hope you’ll step up if the time comes. This the one you mentioned?”

Will rolls his eyes and disengages himself.

“You want some eggs or something. I can manage an omelette dad. Hannibal?”

“An omelette would be fine. Thank you. Am I the one you mentioned?”

Will’s dad snorts.

“All right then. You’re ok. I’ll keep my big gob shut. Head Freddie off at the pass and all. She thinks it’s still what’s-er-face. Anyway. What she come out for?”

“Alana? She brought the eggs. And some milk. Just making sure I was ok I think. More likely the dogs.”

“She still after Winston? She better keep her hands off.”

The dog in question comes and wags her tail against Mr Graham’s leg. And pants happily at him. Will smiles at them both as he fishes a bowl off the dresser, cracks the last six eggs into it and then adds some milk from the two litre plastic jug Alana brought with her. He adds some salt and a grind of black pepper from the mills next to the stove top. Then he takes down a frying pan from the rack on the wall next to the window and above the stove and adds some vegetable oil. He sets the burner on low to heat the oil through. Whisks the eggs with a fork from the draining board.

“I told the Inspector about half of the truth. I went to bed at about half past three. Took a while to get to sleep. Bit over excited by the evening. That sort of thing. Dropped off and managed to sleep for a while. Woke up at about six fifteen. I was able to honestly say I slept and woke up on my own.”

Hannibal blinks at him. It is all true. And really, they were apart for less than hour. But. But. To all intents and purposes it’s three hours. And if Will should be a suspect? It all depends, he thinks, on when Matthew Brown was assaulted.

“All right. I understand. And I appreciate your reasoning. But if it comes to it Will?”

Will shrugs.

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m not throwing you under a bus unless it’s absolutely essential. They tell you these things are all confidential and next thing you know Freddie’s got a fucking exclusive. I’m sure she’s seeing one of the SOCO team.” He scrunches up his face. “As well as you dad.”

His dad smirks but grows a little more serious as he looks at Hannibal again.

“How big a deal is it?”

Hannibal looks at Will.

“Nothing compared to his safety.”

Will manages a small laugh as he pours the eggs into the pan.

“Dad, get some thyme from outside. It’s a big deal. Not just the Chair and Fellowship, though there’s that. Hannibal’s in contention for a bishopric.”

His dad looks at him and then at Hannibal and then back.

“Well, fuck. What about the Deanery?”

Will shrugs and tilts the frying pan to cover the base more evenly. Hannibal looks between them.

“Will?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Donald says I’m in the running. I’ve told him I don’t really want it. But I think some of it is that he can’t bear the thought of Fred or Garret in the Lodge. He was over the moon when Devin resigned. Loathes him even more than Garret and that’s saying something. Yes. No reason you’d know. He’s good at keeping his own counsel. About all of it.”

Hannibal nods slowly.

“Both of us then?”

“Yup.”

Will’s dad makes a noise which might be a snort or a complaint. He goes out of the kitchen door and returns a minute later with a handful of thyme from the bush at the front door near the straggling rosemary. He washes it under the tap at the sink and shakes it a little. He hands it to Will who strips the leaves from the stem into the coalescing eggs.

“Right pair you are then. Bloody college. Bloody church too. Bloody regulations and antiques.” He sighs. “Want me to stay then? Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me it might be you?” He sits back down at the table.

Will turns off the stove and lets the omelette rest. He crosses to the dresser and brings back three plates and some cutlery and dishes up the omelette into three roughly equal portions. He sets a plate in front of his dad and Hannibal and then brings his own over to the table and sits.

“Hannibal? Can you stay the night or do you need to get back?”

“I can stay. If that would be acceptable.”

Will’s dad snorts again.

“Just don’t make too much noise. My bedroom’s next to his.”

...................................

 

In the morning their breakfast is interrupted by the landline ringing. Will comes back into the kitchen.

“That was Sergeant Crawford. I have to go in to the station again. Informal interview. No caution. Dad? Can you find the lawyer we used over the Matthew business? Just in case. Hannibal I’m sticking to what I’ve said unless I absolutely can’t avoid it. Apparently Molson has been attacked. He’s not dead thank God. They think someone might have tried to poison him. I’m going to get dressed and go in. Dad, can you deal with the dogs and then take Hannibal back in to College? God. Hannibal? Can you let Donald know. He might want to tell the Master.”

“Do they think you had something to do with it?”

“I think it’s because I was the last person to see him Sunday night and he didn’t go out on Monday. His housekeeper popped in with some shopping, found him lying on the floor gasping. He’s in the JR. He’s only just come round, not really conscious, but he said something about me. I guess because of the lift. This is so shit. Dad? Can you go and see him too. There’s only his niece.” 

He looks at Hannibal.

“You met her. Margot. She’s a second year. Nice. Fond of him too. Fuck. I’m going to get dressed.”

He leaves his father and Hannibal in the kitchen and Hannibal leans over and briefly squeezes Mr. Graham’s hand.

“If there is any doubt I won’t deny him. And I was here from just after six yesterday morning. I still have my train ticket. There was a guard on the train who clipped it.”

The old man sniffs and sighs.

“There’ll want to know why you were here. What you were doing. Both times. What your relationship is. Why he lied.”

“Yes. I know. And I will tell them if need be.”

Normally Bill Graham looks a good ten years younger than he is. Right now though, the last few minutes have aged him. He looks tired and dispirited.

“He’d go to the mattresses rather than have you pulled under.”

“I hope it is a small reassurance that so would I.”

..................................


	9. Chapter 9

Late on Monday afternoon Jack Crawford ducks his head a little to get into the doorway of the small shop in the covered market. The shop assistant, as prescient as ever narrows his eyes.

“What can I do for you then Sir. Enquiries is it?”

Jack nods, there’s no point in regrets, but no doubt Freddie or one of her minions has got here first.

“Looking for a name. Or maybe more than one. I’m expecting a nice place like this has a customer list?”

The assistant smiles perkily.

“Email newsletter and all. Regular offers. Nice little inside tidbits. Jolly japes and the like. Personal stories of sartorial excellence. Quarterly thing. Does very well with the foreign customers. Fond memories and all, and ‘gee honey where’d I put that nice cape of mine?’” He employs what Jack hopes is an intentionally awful US accent.

“Keep a record of people’s actual addresses as well as the electronic ones then? Database is it. Some monkey?”

The assistant nods, and then waves away Jack’s I.D.

“I recognise the type Sir. Not had personal dealings myself but I know the drill. And you didn’t offer any cash. The fourth estate always has a few fivers to paper the chase as it were. Come through to the cubby I’ll set you up with the tech.”

He slides Jack through behind a screen which affords the rear of the shop a very small space in which administration may be undertaken. Above the tiny desk there are shelves with some old school ledgers and A4 box files. He opens the lap top, enters a short password and then pulls out a stool from under the desk.

“All yours. And you’ll be glad to know that we do keep a record of what was bought by whom. Helps us tailor the offers.” He smirks at his sew/sew joke. “And the like. Help yourself.”

Jack spends forty minutes going through the records. By the time he is finished he is both perplexed and though he’d roughly deny the charge even a little dismayed. His guv is going to just love this.

He does a double check, just to be certain and then exits the Programme and closes the lap top’s lid. 

When he comes back into the main part of the shop the assistant smiles at him.

“Ah Sir, I can see you got what you wanted but not what you needed. My sincere regrets. At Drew’s we try always for both.”

The Sergeant sighs. “Reckon you do. Nice stuff in here. Nice prices too.”

The assistant doesn’t even bat an eye. 

“Let me put you on the list. I’m sure we could manage a special consideration to help you remain a boy in blue. 20% off shall we say. We’ve even got a monthly raffle for each new subscriber.”

He indicates some of the rainwear in the blues and greys that Hannibal had so preferred. Jack rolls his eyes.

“Do I have to make a purchase?”

The assistant casts a look round the shop and his eyes light up. He holds up a rain hat.

“How about this? Good for nasty nights and days spent at some ghastly scene.”

Jack’s about to tell him where to get off when he reflects that actually it would have been mighty useful out at Dr. Graham’s house.

“All right then. Don’t forget the discount.”

The assistant opens his mouth and then shuts it promptly.

“Yes indeed. If you could just fill out the form.”

When he walks out of the shop the Sergeant swings his brown paper package along by his side. Not a total loss after all.

 

..................................................

Mischa listens to her brother on the other end of the telephone call. It would be a fallacy in these modern days of communication to believe that there was any lag on the line but he pauses often enough in his words for her to believe that there is one. 

“I can look Hannibal, of course I don’t mind, but really you need an English barrister, someone who knows how it works there. And you might even need someone who specialises in that kind of thing. If your Will Graham is in serious trouble don’t leave it to chance. Do you want me to give you a name?”

She spends a further few minutes listening and then considers the options as they currently present themselves to her.

“All right. As it happens I do know someone who might fit the bill. She’s expensive, but I don’t suppose you mind that.” At the other end he makes a sound of acquiescence. “No I didn’t think so. And shall he mind if you foot the bill?” He passes another remark. “Oh. I see. All right. Would you like me to sound her out first of all?”

They shift to some further matters and end the call with Mischa promising further information as soon as possible and a willingness to visit should that be of use. Or support.

Well she thinks. There’s a thing. Her brother does still, even now, manage to surprise her. She opens up her rolodex and rifles through it. Ah yes. Chiyoh. Well, well, well. This could be interesting in both a professional and personal sense. She picks up the phone again to place a call to a Chambers in London and waits to be connected.

...................................

By Tuesday lunchtime Inspector Katz is already sick of everything to do with the case. In part at least because she’d spent much of the previous night waiting for the old man to be equal to an interview. Professor Verger slaps the hospital bed blanket with the flat of his hand and glares at the Inspector.

“That’s not what I mean at all! When I say they were Will’s I don’t mean he gave them to me. I mean they were there. At his house. I pinched them. Oh I probably said something about fancying something sweet and dropping a few hints and he shoved the box at me. But they weren’t meant for me. They were meant for him. He doesn’t eat chocolates. Hardly has them in the house, in case the dogs get at them. I just guessed someone brought them for the party, or to say thank you to the host. You know. Polite. If that’s what made me ill, then it wasn’t me they were trying to get at. It was him.”

The Inspector sighs.

“So. If they were poisoned, you’re saying someone was trying to poison him. But surely anyone at all close to Dr. Graham would know that he didn’t eat chocolate.”

“But he’d have one just to be courteous. Wasn’t an allergy. Just not partial. So. Maybe not to kill him. Just to make him a bit poorly. Make sure he was indisposed.”

“A bit uncertain wouldn’t you say? What if he ate several. As you did.”

The Professor shrugs.

“Then he’d end up here. But he wouldn’t. That’s my point. He’d just be a bit poorly.”

He nods. And then crosses his arms across his chest. The Inspector recognises intransigence when she sees it and thanks the old man for his time and leaves with regards for his prompt recovery. He looks somewhat mollified by her regretful tone.

Outside the ward she looks at her Sergeant.

“So. Was Will Graham the intended target and Professor Verger the unhappy unintended victim? Or did someone on Sunday try to get at the old man, and feed him the stuff via Dr. Graham. If they knew he was there..”

Crawford sniffs. “Could have been Monday morning if it was the old switcheroo. Or any time up to when he ate the bulk of them. Fancy eating a whole layer. No wonder he was sick. He says no one came to see him all through Monday. But how reliable is he?”

The Inspector sighs. “Doesn’t work. But no one knew he was still there on Sunday evening, Dr Graham found him there when he got back from seeing us. He says he didn’t tell anyone until late on the Monday. Though the Professor might have done. You’ll check with the Dean?”

Jack nods. “Unless it was him. Graham.”

Beverly looks at her bagman “Wanting to kill the old man? Do we know why he’d want to?”

“I suppose if he saw something the night of the party? But it works the other way too. If Will Graham did? Or the person who thought they’d nobbled Graham the first time around was just having another go. God. It’s a right mess.”

“And the coat?”

“Oh you’ll love this. Four coats sold to Frideswide men. Most recently to Dr. Lecter. In a very nice petrol blue. One to Garret Hobbs in a sort of slate grey. Another, last year, in a discontinued colour, best described as a sort of oily sludge, that one was to our first victim Dr. Brown. He might have mistaken Dr. Hobbs’ for his in the dim lighting of that mud room. Makes a kind of sense. I’m going out to Hobbs’ later to collect the one he has. He says it’s got Matthew Brown’s wallet in it. Says he didn’t check. Not his usual coat. And lastly. And of course the final one was several years ago, in a sort of dark red, claret, to a Mr. Bill Graham. I’ve made enquiries. It’s Dr. Graham’s father. He lives in Summertown. It’s his coat but his son actually paid for it. They came in together. The assistant remembers because the father comes in every now and again to make smaller purchases and to have a bit of a chat. He supplies anecdotes for their quarterly newsletter.”

The Inspector sits back in her chair and briefly examines the ceiling.

“We’re back to Dr. Graham. Again. And Dr. Hobbs and Dr. Brown. And I suppose Mr. Graham too. Was he at the party, or expected at it?”

“Ahh. No. He wasn’t. You’ll love this too Guv. He was out for dinner and dancing. With Freddie Lounds.”

Beverly looks at him.

“I hate this case. I really, really do. Still. Do you think it cuts Dr. Chilton out as a potential victim? And your Rev. Dimmond? Maybe even Dr. Lecter? No. Maybe not him. But the other two?”

The Sergeant shrugs again. “It’s possible. Isn’t it? Certainly puts Brown, Hobbs, and Graham firmly in the sights. If the killer was dependant on the coat for an I.D. In the dark.”

“Do we know if anyone else was out and wearing their’s? Dr. Lecter? Wearing his own? Dr. Hobbs? Wearing Dr. Brown’s? Dr. Graham, wearing his dad’s. If it was there. God. Jack. Find out where his coat is will you.”

“I spoke to Dr. Lecter. He didn’t know until I told him we didn’t have his stuff that it wasn’t his coat. Apparently, unless anyone has moved it it’s still out at Will Graham’s place. Last time he saw it it was in the mud room hanging up with a great pile. But he didn’t look for it after late Saturday when he and Dr. Graham came back from a long walk in time for a late lunch. And he didn’t check on Sunday because everyone told him the victim was wearing his coat and he believed them. He went out to check on Dr. Graham on the Monday, but he still believed we had his coat so he wasn’t looking then either. He was there when we called Dr. Graham this morning. So was Mr. Graham. Apparently they were both worried about Dr. Graham’s safety and because of the dogs he wouldn’t stay in College. Have you spoken to him yet?”

Beverly sighs again.

“He came in at eight. I might have been a bit short with him. Bothered about the old man. Seems they’re friends. He used to come out to fish a fair bit, old guy is cronies with his father. More worried about him than anything. I didn’t tell him about the question about the chocolates. He seemed genuinely bewildered. And upset. Said his dad would go and visit the Professor. If that was ok.”

“And we know for sure he was where he says he was on Monday? What time did Lecter go out there do we know?”

The Inspector makes a face. “Graham says he slept late. When he woke up Dr. Lecter and Dr. Bloom, you remember, the woman with dark hair. Quite young. They were both in the kitchen. His dad turned up not long after and Dr. Bloom left. And the other two stayed on. Jack? Are we any further on?”

“Well we got a guy in the JR. another in the morgue. What do you reckon, someone has it in for Dr. Graham?”

“We don’t actually know if they were his chocolates. Or even if they were actually in his house. Just because the Prof said so. Or. Damn. When they arrived there. If he doesn’t eat chocolates as a matter of course he could have had them for ages. In fact..” she trails off. “Maybe the bit of wood was a second attempt?”

The Sergeant brightens for a moment but then slumps. “Or Dr. Graham was the target of the chocolates, but not the thump on the head. Or we’re meant to think he was the target. All this happy confusion of the coats? Doctored chocs? Maybe it’s a nice bit or trickery. Get your sleight of hand in, in advance. Specially if there’s another body in the woodwork. Could be him all along, playing the victim. Confuse things.”

Inspector Katz sighs very comprehensively. “Working then isn’t it. Phone Jim. See if the results are in about the chocolates. And see if Will Graham remembers being given them, or when, or by whom. And where they’re from, stockists that kind of thing. Get one of the DCs on it. Or two if it’s a big list. Ask him about his dad’s sodding coat too. If he ever wears it. Or wore it that night. And for fucks sake we still haven’t got a motive for why anyone would want Graham, or Brown, or Hobbs dead. Except that Brown was a stirrer. But that all seems to have been done and dusted. Or Lecter. See if there’s any reason it should be him. Victim or suspect. Oh. God.”

“I’ll get some tea ma’am. And maybe some cake.”

“We haven’t got anywhere Jack. We don’t deserve cake.”

“Ma’am I think it’s when we need it most, is when we don’t deserve it.”

.....................................................

 

Bill Graham closes the door and then watches from Will’s kitchen window as the elegant figure of the lawyer Hannibal’s sister has found retreats down the garden. At the gravel on the far side of the stream there is a car waiting for her. It’s been a nifty bit of work he can admit. Will only got hauled in by the cops yesterday. Nice that she’s earning her fee. Will had blanched when Hannibal told them what it was costing. Bill watches her leave and then turns to look at his son and at Hannibal.

“I dunno. It’s a risk isn’t it?”

“We might say that the best defence is an offence.”

“Will?”

Will takes his glasses off and cleans them absently.

“The Inspector asked if Molson might have seen something on Saturday that led to him being poisoned. That’s the crux of her case against me it seems. That I whalloped Matthew, Molson saw me and I tried to get him out of the way. When I asked about why I might want Matthew dead or at least might have thumped him she reminded me about all the trouble. Hinted that he was pushing and it was all coming back again and that I might have reacted badly. Especially if I had some reason to particularly be concerned right now. I think she meant the Deanery. But someone might have dropped a hint about Hannibal.”

“In that case we could certainly demonstrate that you had no reason to be concerned on that front.”

Will puts his glasses back on and looks at Hannibal and then at his dad.

“I’d like to think about it. I’m sorry. It’s incredibly generous, but it could ruin you. I need to think about it.”

Hannibal looks at Bill and then back at Will.

“Should I leave you to talk?”

“Actually. I think I’ll go and talk to Donald. See what he thinks. Do you mind?”

“If you think he will have your best interests at heart. And will see how this might help.”

“And not completely fuck up his last six months in post?”

Hannibal nods.

“That too.”

“All right. Yeah. I’ll go and talk to him. And have a think. Look. The inquest is tomorrow. Why don’t we see how that goes. I’ll talk to Donald. You’ve got chapel on Saturday evening? I won’t mess about, I’ll try and have made my mind up by then.

Hannibal watches him stare out the window, and desperately hopes that this doesn’t mark the beginning of the end for them. He can hardly countenance the thought that it might be so.

.......................................

The Inspector looks round the Dean’s Lodge. She’s been to the Master’s place a few times but overall she thinks she prefers it here. But that may be more to do with Donald Sutcliffe’s taste in decoration and furnishings then the architecture of the building. He sees her looking at a nice bit of oak.

“I’m a big fan of skips. I think the yanks call it dumpster diving. Skip picking here. Very satisfying. Will Graham drives me around. We keep an eye out on any possibles, North Oxford, Park Town, Jericho. You know. And then we swoop of an evening. I find it especially delicious when one of our colleagues shows up for dinner here or out at his place and they find their discards given pride of place.”

He smiles and hands her a tea. She faintly manages. “Are we allowed to call them yanks still?”

He shrugs. “Probably not. I keep up as far as possible. Be inclusive. I’ll ask Hannibal. He might know. Now, how can I help you?”

He settles into the aforementioned oak armchair and waits for her to begin.

“You said you recalled that someone came through the kitchen when you were almost asleep? I wanted to see if you could remember anything else about it.”

He drinks from his own mug. It has a picture of a cartoon dachshund on it and bears the legend ‘hello sausage’ on it. Her own, to her regret, does not.

“Well. I’ve thought about it. It was someone from inside the house, you know. The little hall between the sitting room and the kitchen? Yes? The door is on a spring and makes a wretched noise. They didn’t say anything, just went straight past the dresser and out the other door into the mud room. Latched it behind them too. I know this because when Will came in later he unlatched it.”

“Could it have been Will Graham who went out and then came back?”

“Shouldn’t think so. He was already outside. In the teepee. He came back and switched off the music. He didn’t say anything. I suppose he thought I was asleep, didn’t want to wake me. He’s a good chap. I’m very fond of him. Especially as he doesn’t particularly want my job.”

“You’re retiring?”

He nods.

“Certainly. Usually the Dean has a pop at the Master’s role but we think we’ve got a shot at getting one of the women in. First time in six hundred years. Got to be worth a go. Anyway. It’s one of the reasons I was so glad I got my way over Hannibal. He doesn’t want the damn thing either. No one hounding at my heels.”

“Was there someone else in the running?”

Donald frowns. And then his face clears.

“Oh. If he was the intended victim. Well I suppose he might be. Lots of people wanted the Chair. Prestigious. Didn’t hurt he’s a cleric. Help Anthony out now and again. Nice relief on the old sermonising front. Hannibal isn’t a prude. It’s a relief you know, poor Anthony does blather on. Dashed thing is that the Master has got one of the failed applicants in to cover some of Molson’s classes. There’s a question of whether he’ll be eligible for the Deanery if he does a certain number of hours. Of course he’s a Fellow. But it’s annoying.”

Beverly blinks at him.

“So he might have had an interest? If the intended was Dr. Lecter. Or Dr. Graham. Either because of the Chair or the Deanery?”

The Dean smiles cheerily.

“Don’t see how it gets you further along though. Silvestri is the chap. Went to Bristol. Bet he’s hot footing it back right now.” He sniffs. “I expect he’ll have an alibi. So. My mysterious visitor. No use am I?”

“And you didn’t hear footsteps or anything. It’s a wooden floor. And no smell, beer, or wine, or perfume or anything?”

He closes his eyes as if to take himself back to the preceding Saturday night. He breathes slowly for a few moments and she watches as he tries to catch the memory of any smell or sound. He shakes his head and opens his eyes again.

“I don’t think so. There’s something. I certainly knew them. But I can’t be sure. I’ll have to try and let it just catch up to me. Sorry.”

She sighs. “It was a long shot. But worth a try.”

“Yes. I suppose.” He answers her thoughtfully. “Well now Inspector. Now you know your way, don’t be a stranger.”

...........................................

Chiyoh and Mischa sit at the back of the court waiting for the Coroner to adjourn the Inquest. As expected it is opened and a verdict of unlawful killing at the hand of person or persons unknown returned. Mischa looks over to where Hannibal is sitting with Will and his father. She whispers in her friend’s ear.

“Will they go for it?”

“Dr. Graham is the more concerned for your brother than for his own future. And your brother more concerned for Dr. Graham’s. And they both lean towards truth. I have advised them to talk to the Inspector.”

“And will they?”

“Your brother did not need persuading. Dr. Graham believes he has less to lose than Hannibal. Of course Hannibal disagrees. But Dr. Graham has said he will decide this weekend. I believe he wished to see how today’s events turned out.”

Mischa looks over at them.

“I haven’t met him yet. I’m having dinner with them all later. What did you think?”

“He loves your brother. And would not drag him down even if it meant his own disgrace.”

“This protects Hannibal too.”

“I think that is all that might persuade him. He is honourable. And he thinks the affair will come out. That it might have to.”

“They both need the alibi. When it comes down to it. Will you come this evening?”

“I must go back to London. Perhaps you will come tomorrow? When do you return?”

“Sunday night. All right. Tomorrow then?”

Chiyoh nods briefly and slides along the bench before getting up and leaving the back of the courtroom, the court officer at the door holds it open and then closes it quietly behind her. It was just possible that she might have been required, but sensibly the police have settled for an open verdict. At this stage at least.

Mischa watches Hannibal. And Will. She tugs her briefcase on to her lap. She’ll have to check the paperwork inside this afternoon and bring it with her to dinner. God. The Inspector will love this. Though actually it makes her life easier. Well. Somewhat. Maybe.

.................................

 

When it comes to Communion Bill shifts in the pew so that Will can pass him. He watches as his son goes up to the altar rail, crosses his hands across his breast to indicate he won’t receive the sacrament but instead requests a blessing. He kneels and lowers his head. Hannibal makes his way steadily along the line of kneeling supplicants, offering the host where appropriate or a gentle hand on the head to communicate the benediction with a few murmured words.

When he reaches Will he doesn’t hesitate or alter his behaviour in any way, simply speaks quietly, his hand resting on Will’s head, and then moves on. Will leans on the rail with a hand and gets up and walks back up the nave of the chapel. He sits beside his father again and resting his elbows on his knees he puts his head in both of his hands. His father rests a hand softly between his shoulder blades, notes the faint tremble threading Will’s spine. He’s been like this all day. Trembly.

At the end of the service he waits with Will until Hannibal has finished, the servers have been dismissed and there is a slow gather of people hanging around on the threshold of the Chapel. The College organ scholar is still playing something faintly pleased. Hannibal would know what. Will might too. He smiles at the Dean, he quite likes Donald, and where his favouritisms lie.

“Bill! Nice surprise. Come to see our Fellow, or come to see Will? We’re going to the pub? Let me buy you a pint.”

Bill smiles at Will.

“All right with you?”

Will nods.

“We might come on. I need to talk to him first.”

Bill sniffs and shoves his hands into his pockets. It’s a gesture Will learned from him. Characteristic now of them both. He frowns slightly at the slightly sad look on Will’s face.

“You made up your mind then? All right. Fair enough. Give me a bell later. If you don’t make it.”

He nudges Donald and they leave Will at the door, managing to draw at least some of the crowd along with them.

“Hello. I’m going to change first. Do you want to come with me while I do?”

Will smiles at Hannibal.

“Sure. The others are going to the Pub. I said we might later.”

They walk across the minor quad and along one of the cloistered aisles and then along the major quad and up Hannibal’s staircase. At the second floor he unlocks his door and holds it open for Will to go through first, then closes it behind them and locks it again as is his wont. He looks at Will’s face and his heart sinks a little.

“You’ve decided haven’t you?”

Will looks at him and then threads a hand gently through Hannibal’s hair and leans in and kisses him. He brings his other hand up to Hannibal’s jaw and holds it whilst he tilts his head and opens his mouth and licks hard along the soft seam of Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal opens to him and the kiss deepens.

Hannibal brings his arms round Will and uses his height to his advantage and leans him back. The kiss gets messier and wetter and more demanding. Will draws out the piece of white stiffened cotton from the collar at Hannibal’s throat. And then slowly, neither of them breaking the urgent kiss, Will begins to work on the buttons of Hannibal’s cassock. He undoes them one by one. When he has the first three undone he mouths wetly down Hannibal’s throat and sucks a soft purple bruise against the place where the collar usually rests. As his fingers work down the next few buttons he also undoes the buttons of the shirt that Hannibal is wearing beneath.

By the time he has reached Hannibal’s waist he has pushed aside the top half of the cassock and the white dress shirt. He nuzzles wetly across Hannibal’s chest, kisses, then sucks and lightly bites at a tightening nipple, shifts to catch the other side. Hannibal pants lightly, his hands going to the back of Will’s head as he holds him gently in place while Will sucks a harder bruise over his heart.

His fingers keep working on the buttons and then on Hannibal’s belt below. He’s undone 25 of the articles when he reaches the fly of Hannibal’s trousers and unbuttons them too. He pushes the fabric aside and reaches below to free Hannibal’s cock from the confines of the shorts he wears. He leans in and breathes quietly against him, all the while listening to Hannibal’s laboured breaths coming faster now.

And then he kneels, just on one knee, between Hannibal’s legs, and takes him in his mouth. Working him with his tongue. Flattening it to suck more tightly as he pushes harder in against Hannibal’s groin. Swirling it around. He works his mouth up and down the full length, suckling the head, teasing at the slit with the tip of his tongue, and then pushing all the way back in to swallow hard, the head at the back of his throat. He shifts his head, opens himself up more, swallows again. Hums against the ragged breath Hannibal manages. He lets Hannibal guide his head. It’s only a gentle hold. He plans on changing that. 

He finishes undoing the buttons on the cassock. All 39. Then he lifts one hand to circle the base of Hannibal’s cock. And uses the thumb of his other hand to press at the perineum behind his tightening balls. He circles it. Massages Hannibal’s prostate from the outside and then really begins to suck and work the full length of Hannibal’s cock in earnest. With a moan Hannibal jerks his hips and then starts to fuck harder into Will’s mouth. Into his welcoming throat. He loses himself to the wet heat and tight swallow and begins a series of forceful short sharp thrusts that leave him gasping, moaning Will’s name, swearing softly until it is one long urgent sound of desire as he thrusts harder and deeper and with less precision or control. He almost sobs when he comes, an emptying of all his longing and lust and possessive need. And Will still swallows round him until he calms and manages to lessen the tight grip he has on Will’s hair.

Hannibal leans hard against his desk. And endeavours to breathe normally again. Will pushes off his knee with his hand and gets up and stands beside him. He strokes Hannibal’s face, flushed and aroused and slightly wild. Then he uses a handkerchief from his jacket pocket to wipe the corners of his mouth. He twitches a smile and kisses Hannibal softly.

“That’s better. I had to check you see. I’m usually the desperate one. And I’m rethinking whether I have a priest kink or not. Probably not. Lovely un-buttons though. Maybe I just want you.”

Hannibal pulls him closer and kisses him somewhat roughly.

“Please tell me you’ve decided to agree to Chiyoh’s suggestion. I’m not sure I can bear it otherwise.”

Will smiles.

“Oh all right. Let’s try it that way. See what happens.”

“And this is your way of agreeing is it?”

Will nods and Hannibal kisses him again. Eventually he pushes Will through into his bedroom and then down on to the too narrow bed. They don’t make it to the pub that evening, and the cassock, upon later examination, has to be dry cleaned.

 

.......................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the lovely person who sent me a Ko-fi donation thank you so very much!
> 
> There’s a link on my tumblr and Twitter homes (I’m ElectraRhodes and Electra_Rhodes there). I don’t tend to push it, though I’m told I should, particularly as I’m between jobs right now. But it really brightens my day!


	10. Chapter 10

The next few weeks pass with varying degrees of speed. And the experience of this subtle rate of change is somewhat dependent on those enduring it. Inspector Katz visits her superior at his request rather more than she would like. A brief line of enquiry into whether the culprit might in fact be the Dean himself is explored and then shelved and then put on the front burner again. Sergeant Crawford makes enough use of his waterproof hat that he is able to defend the outlay of the expense to his long suffering wife. He makes the trip too to collect Dr. Brown’s coat from the Hobbs’ household and then bemoans the ghoulish expressions of Dr. Hobbs’ teenage daughter who rather hopes they will have the opportunity to re-enact the crime. On relating this to his guv they spend a glum few days as they work out exactly what this might involve. 

Mr. Graham’s coat is found to have a permanent home on the pegs in his son’s mud room thus confirming their worst fears that there were in fact four oilskins in play on that fateful night. Though Dr. Graham thinks he did not borrow any of them for any of his brief forays between the house and the teepee. Correspondingly Mr. Zeller of the SOC team is persuaded to go out and take enough pictures and measurements to get the exact layout of the house and grounds. He spends a happy afternoon putting up several versions for different times of the night in question and then sticks little flagged pins in to indicate who was where and at what time (and in some instances doing what.) And upon review no one thinks they are any further on at all.

In College, both Hannibal and Will having decided upon their course of action are somewhat circumspect in their affections. Hannibal makes the journey out to the house, but on random days and evenings. Will visits his rooms, in the same manner. They carefully arrive and depart from the same event at different times, occasionally accompanied by others. Perhaps they both mention the word love. Perhaps too, commitment, and desire, and hope. Perhaps they are both cautious. Despite this Hannibal endeavours to make good on his personal promise to bring Will to orgasm in every room of his house. And succeeds, to their mutual shuddering pleasure. Of course they also argue and discuss, and learn the vagaries of one another in close proximity. Hannibal loses a slipper to one of the dogs. They debate backwards and forwards Will’s rebuttal of Hannibal’s review. And wait, with no small anxiety, to see what, if anything, the police will do.

The Dean begins his preparations both for Christmas High Table and concomitant after-party, and the formal announcement of his retirement, as well as the associated public revelation of the shortlist for his replacement. He decries the early lobbying by several members of Faculty even if, secretly perhaps, he may possibly have been egging on one or two members of the student body to engage in a little marketing on certain people’s behalves. Posters appear around the College. The Porters are known to be running a book.

It is one of those liminal times. Autumn drudges into something resembling an Oxford winter. Not as biting as those in the other place perhaps, but fraught. Pipes burst. People slip. Woollens are aired and found to be full of moth. Cold baths are eschewed and despite the ban on wood fires in the centre of the city there seems to be the smell of winter, the red of evergreen berries and tinkling silver gold lights against the fir, and the taste of spiced warmth in heatproof glasses.

Inspector Katz is tired.

“Jimmy? Brian? Tell me something. Anything. I’ll take it all!”

She gives a ghost of a smile as she sits back in her chair. The M.E and the SOCO sit opposite her, in two almost comfortable chairs and her Sergeant leans on a long table covered in metal filing trays. On the wall are Mr Zeller’s push pin floor-plans. In front of the Inspector is a brown Manila folder.

“Fingerprints Z?”

Brian grins and then composes himself.

“There are. Guess who. But no prizes for the old guy.”

The Sergeant and Dr. Price exchange a look wondering if the Inspector will be willing to play.

“Oh. I don’t know. From the way you’re saying it not Dr. Graham. But someone else? In the house that night. Yes?”

Brian smiles happily.

“We could do twenty questions?”

She sighs.

“Or you could just tell us.”

He gauges, rightly, the mood of the room.

“Sure thing boss. Not Dr. Graham. I feel like there should be a drum roll here. But. Dr. Brown.”

They all blink at him. Bev swears quietly.

“We waited three weeks to get those latents off the plastic and you’re telling me they’re the victim’s?”

He nods.

“Yup. The cardboard outer base and lid has the Prof’s as you’d expect. The inner corrugated plastic is honestly a nightmare which is why it’s taken so long. We had to send it out. But clear as anything. Well. Not anything. Never mind. You get the idea. Dr. Brown. And the outer cardboard lid also had the niece. So, it looks like the Prof forgot at least one visitor. But it does look like he was right about Dr. Graham, he hadn’t opened the box, hadn’t even handled it. At least not after the cellophane was off. And, he couldn’t have wiped it and then given it to the Prof because then we wouldn’t have the other print inside because I can’t see him being careful enough to wipe the outside of the box but not the inside, if he’d mucked around with it.”

The Inspector makes a face.

“So. Where did he pick it up? Jack? Have you talked to Professor Verger again?”

“Yaas. Soon as Z gave me the nudge about the outer prints. Prof now thinks he picked it up in one of the upstairs rooms. He slept the Saturday night in the smaller room beside the bathroom.” Crawford stands and indicates where he means on the floor-plans. And then flumps down against the long table again. “But I think he fell asleep in the wingback in the double bedroom. We had a look and his prints are all over these two rooms. But not the other two. Though we think they were both locked the Saturday night. 

The one on the top left is Dr. Graham’s. And the one on the bottom left was Dr. Lecter’s. He’d stayed the previous night too.” He pauses a moment. “His prints are in Dr. Graham’s room as well as his own.” He stands up and points to the floor plans again. “You can see there’s a door between the two rooms. We didn’t notice it first time out. Because on Dr. Graham’s side it’s blocked by a wardrobe. It’s locked. Dr. Graham says it usually is. And it was the night of the party.” He shifts a little. “But we also found the Dean’s prints in Dr. Graham’s bedroom. And Dr. Chilton’s. And Dr. Brown’s. And Dr. Bloom’s. So, we think Dr. Graham maybe didn’t lock his room on the Sunday. And by the look of it people were in and out of there too. And lots of prints in the other double room. Including all those people, plus numerous others, except Dr. Lecter. It’s usually Mr. Graham’s room when he stays. Which he seems to do quite often.”

The Inspector gets up and goes to look more closely at the plans. 

“So. In effect. Anyone could have put the chocolates there. Or moved them there. And wiped the outer box, but not known that Dr. Brown had handled the inside? Though why is another matter. Ok. Jimmy? Tell us about the chocolates themselves.”

Dr. Price holds up his hands, and lets them fall, a gesture of small dismay.

“I think the old chap was right. Whoever put them there didn’t intend for Dr. Graham to be poisoned. Or at least, not to kill him. They’re diabetic chocolates. Fairly common brand. Stocked by Boots and other chemists. Some of the bigger supermarkets too. Too many will certainly upset your tummy, it’s the polyols. Give people the runs if they eat upwards of half a dozen I’d say. Have a laxative effect too. It’s also possible one or two of them might have been doctored. There’s a smear of melted chocolate on the base of one of the ones left from the top layer. So, it is just possible something was injected into the others too. Tests we ran on that one suggested quite a high proportion of polyols for the filling. But it’s not an exact science. Sorry. I know I normally say it is. So. Overall. The chocolates would have made him ill. But not killed him. Even if he’d had a few.”

“And what if they weren’t meant for him. What if someone gave them to Dr. Brown? He ate a couple. Didn’t feel so rosey himself?”

They all look at the Inspector. She goes round the end of her desk and sits in her chair again.

“For the first time ever I’m going to say we actually need another body. Don’t for God’s sake quote me. Right now though? How are we going to progress it? Jack? Jimmy?”

The Sergeant shrugs.

“Two different M.O.s. Still lots of opportunity. Someone willing and able to play a waiting game if they thought the chocolates might make him very ill. But took advantage of the moment to clonk the victim one in the dark. And can I say, I took the four raincoats out to Dr. Graham’s. Tried to get the lighting right, glow from the house, rain. Down near the stream? They all look bloody black in the moonlight. Hopeless. Can’t have been the colour influencing the killer.”

The Inspector looks at her three colleagues.

“Super says we’ve got until New Year’s to sort this out. Couple of weeks into the Hilary term, and nothing after that. Jack and I will be back on rotation. They’ve already cut back on the team. What about Dr. Brown’s car? Anything?”

Jack slumps.

“Traffic’s still keeping an eye out. Honestly though? Could be in some long stay carpark. Or in a ditch. Or someone took it out to Wytham. Or in two stages. Took it somewhere near by that night. Walked back. Or walked off. Hitched. Any of those. Still can’t think why they needed to. Though if it got them somewhere with a bus service, maybe that’s what they were after. Someone who wanted to get away fast. Who didn’t want to found there in the morning. Or who wanted to bounce back. Or decided to. Changed their mind. Left it too late to bring the car back? Don’t know. And...” He slows down. “Course. How they got it started? Without the keys. Oh wait. Dr Hobbs. He had Dr. Brown’s coat. There were keys in one of the pockets. Damn. What did he say? Didn’t he say he cadged a lift?” He fumbles in his inside pocket for his notebook and then flips back a number of pages. “Here it is.. he said he begged a lift off of someone. Had to get home for some family thing. His daughter is a right little madame. I suppose me might have taken it and then didn’t want to say.”

He sees the look on his boss’ face. 

“Yeah. I’ll check. Guess he didn’t want to ‘fess up cos he’s up for this Dean’s thing. Thought it made him look callous. But that would mean...”

Beverly Katz sits up.

“That would mean he knew he couldn’t ask anyone if he could take the car. Which means he knew that it was Dr. Brown in the stream. In fact, it means he knew someone was in the stream at all. Jack?”

“I’m on it. You coming ma’am?”

She stands and pushes her chair back and grabs her coat from the stand in the corner. Moments later she and her Sergeant are gone, the office door swinging behind them. Brian and Dr. Price exchange a smile. These little tête-à-tête do go well sometimes.

................................

The Master of St Frideswide hands a cup of delicate porcelain to the Dean.

“Hobbs is out. The police are satisfied, for now at least, that he panicked and did a runner. Didn’t want to be caught up in it. Thought it would be harmful to his wife and daughter. Ironic really. As now it is. Makes a fellow look bad. Useful for the police as it’s narrowed the timeframe down. But. Well. He’s withdrawn his candidacy. Not that I think that will cause you much in the way of regrets?”

He watches as Donald takes a careful sip. Lapsang Souchong isn’t everyone’s preferred tipple. But his junior does not demur or make any kind of face. He smiles to himself.

“Perhaps not. But we need four. Have you any ideas? I believe you will have covered all eventualities.”

The Master takes a mouthful of his own tea.

“Chilton. Graham. Lecter. And Silvestri.”

The Dean manages not to grimace at this unpalatable tidbit either.

“I thought Hannibal had ruled himself out.”

The Master smiles a small smug sort of thing.

“Agreed to be a stalking horse. Go out in the first or second round.”

“What? And leave a clear field for the others.”

The Master inclines his head.

“That’s the general idea.”

“And Silvestri will have done enough hours to be eligible.”

“I persuaded Graham to let him have two of his publics.”

“And what’s in it for Will?”

He watches the Master’s face, and doesn’t especially like what he sees there.

“I simply suggested that it was useful for him to be seen to be on board, cooperating with the College’s requirements, remind people that he’s one of us. Just in case there should be any trouble later.”

So, the Dean reflects, the Master does know. Or knows something. Damn. And Donald had thought they’d been so careful. None of his usual little birdies had come to him with any bits of news. Unless of course the Master means the case with Brown?

“Are you concerned Master? Has the favourable Inspector Katz made progress then of which she has kept only you appraised?”

The Master takes another sip of tea and then clears his throat.

“Truth be told, they are no further forwards. Unless someone shows their hand they have reached an impasse. The motive for doing away with Dr. Brown eludes them all. I admit, it eludes me too. It seems to have impacted no one greatly beyond one or two post-graduates in a negative sense. And as for the positives, perhaps Will might be said to have benefited but in such an obvious way as to counteract it. And unless there is some other matter of which we are all unaware then it is impossible to say for sure what such an advantage might be. If the intended victim was not Dr. Brown we are not much further along. Establishing who else it might be is, according to the Chief Superintendent, a thankless task in its own right. And this matter of the chocolate seems to take us no further forwards either. Except perhaps to confirm that in some way it does come back to Dr. Brown.” He shrugs his shoulders lightly. “You see their dilemma?”

The Dean sighs. He does indeed. He finishes his tea.

...................................

 

Freddie stretches out a foot and rubs it gently up and down the outside of Bill Graham’s shin.

“Come on Billy boy! I talked to Beverly Katz. She says they’re on zeroes for heroes. Not a damn thing. Give us something? Go on, I’m begging you. I’ll do that thing you like. Go and listen to the bloody vicar, make nice to Will.”

Bill Graham smiles. He tops up her glass of wine from the bottle they’ve been sharing. He’d thought Freddie would get down to business at some point. And here it is. It’s either flattering she waited until dessert or she thought he’d know that dinner deserved detail if she was footing the bill. He smirks to himself. Yeah. Nice. And he’s a smart cookie. No such thing as a free three course dinner at Carluccio’s.

“All right. A little something for Christmas. And I want you to keep a date free in January. We’re going to try and force someone’s hand.”

She looks at him, puts down her glass and rests a hand over his.

“Are you serious? Bill. Be careful. Who ever it is might not have meant to kill Brown or even your Will, but he nearly did for the old guy, as well as actually leaving Brown for dead.”

Bill smiles.

“Oh I know. Which is why I’m not telling you much more right now. But get your organiser out Freddie, let’s get the date fixed. And then I’ll explain a tiddly bit. As long as you promise on your little black book you won’t tell a soul. Not yet at least. Ok?”

She wriggles a bit in her seat. She likes Bill Graham, and he’s often good for University and City gossip. Fingers in lots of pies all over the town. Knows where some of the bodies are buried. The more interesting ones too she suspects.

“Exclusive?”

“Darlin’ you always are.”

“All right then. Give us the low down.”

After he’s explained the bare bones of the scheme she empties her wine glass and waves at a waiter.

“Two glasses of fizz. Anything under fifty quid but over twenty. Bill. If this gets less than 10,000 extra hits the day after I’ll eat that moll hat you hate so much.”

“Freddie, if it gets fewer than 10,000 on the same day I’ll eat it for you.”

..................................

 

On the evening of the Christmas High Table Bedelia Du Maurier helps the Dean with his white tie.

“There. Much better. For goodness’ sake Donald we have this battle every year. Can’t you practice or something between whiles?”

“I could. But honestly, it’s alway much more fun to get other people to help me. See. Look. Lovely job.” He observes himself in one of the mirrors behind the long buttery. “Tell me. How have the others done?”

She looks round the long dining room and makes a quick judgement on the eclectic sartorial choices made by her colleagues.

“Fred has been sensible. His is a ready tied. Garret’s wife has probably done his, and I think he should get his jacket re-cut. Will has shaved and honestly he now looks like an undergraduate. Black tie suits him rather well. Though I think Hannibal must have tied his tie, his is done the same way.”

Donald makes a small noise of something she decides to take for mirth.

“Perfectly acceptable in the circumstances. And to be expected from two friends. Stop it.”

She carries on looking. 

“Dr. Matthews is looking suitably sorrowful for someone who lost his research partner only recently. I note that Alana arrived with Will. She’s rather pink faced. Possibly still on those meds. Because she’s still not drinking. And she seems somewhat intimate with Molson’s niece. Hmm. That surly baritone Francis is glowering at Eldon. That might well be something to do with last Sunday’s mass setting. Didn’t show his section off terribly well.” She arches her neck to see past some of the post-graduates currently circling the tables. “Anthony is wittering on to Hannibal. I’m anticipating that he’ll ask just what kind of party it is at some point. He might be said to be flirting, hard to say. Hannibal has his blank face on. Anyone else you’re interested in? Molson is possibly asleep. Or resting his eyes. Or thinking noble thoughts. He’s over by the drinks table.”

“Silvestri?”

She looks around. It’s always hard to differentiate between her black or white tie wearing colleagues at an event such as this.

“I can’t see him. He must be here somewhere. The bell will be ringing soon.”

As she says it the bell for dinner is rung and one of the College servants announces the Master. There’s a small, somewhat overdone procession, and everyone follows to take their allocated places.

Anthony speaks the formal words of the Grace, the Master waves an airy hand. And everyone is seated, and the meal begun.

.............................

The after-party in the Senior Common Room spills over into the Major Quad and one of the cloisters. It is noisy, rumbunctious and, so the later rumours grow, more than a little dissolute.

At just before midnight, as tradition dictates, the Master calls for quiet. He uses the formal words that stipulate for the replacement of the Dean, commends Donald on his timely departure at the end of St. John, announces the timetable for the elections and then grants everyone a somewhat haughty look as he announces the Candidates whose names have been brought forwards by the College Council. As anticipated there is some modest laughter and friendly ribbing.

“William Graham.” 

He sees the smiles and waits for the applause to die away.

“Frederick Chilton.”

Slightly less applause but a few cheers. The Master narrows his eyes as he looks around and suspects a plant or two.

“Hannibal Lecter.”

There’s an infinitesimal pause and then steady applause and a lone wolf-whistle which makes everyone present laugh.

“Devin Silvestri.”

A longer pause and then some gradual clapping. No one it seems is surprised by the list but there is also a modest opportunity to make some small objections known. 

As is also tradition the four candidates are asked to come forwards to be recognised by the assemblage. Will, Hannibal and Frederick all make their way to the front. The Master coughs again, most displeased. It has required some careful manoeuvring to ensure Devin’s eligibility for candidacy, and now he cannot be located. He glances around to see if a Servant mightn’t be found to summon the errant don.

They wait a few moments. And there is considerable commotion when one of the Porters rushes in and announces to the room at large.

“Dr. Silvestri ain’t in College Sir. He ain’t been seen since yesterday lunch!”

Everyone looks to each other in dismay. It is not possible to forget the events of only a few week’s ago. It is also possible that the Dean is heard to mutter that the Election is cursed this year. And that it is a conspiracy to make him stay on when he’d much rather retire and laze away his days. Perhaps somewhere quieter. Like Beirut. The group is slowly becoming restless and the Master fears, that if Silvestri cannot be found, he may have to call the police in. Really he might as well have Inspector Katz on speed dial.

In the doorway a figure appears.

“I say. Someone locked me in the lavs. I’ve been there for at least two hours. Hey. Why are you all looking like you’ve seen a ghost?”

A collective sigh of relief is heard. Though both the Master and the Dean can’t help but wonder if the intention was to defer the beginning of the election period. Or create circumstances in which all the candidacies might be declared void. Or simply to exclude Silvestri and thus disrupt the usual progress of the process. Or. Or something. 

The Master regathers himself. He then introduces each of the men individually to the assembly and offers some words of encouragement to each candidate. They say some polite things in return and the mills of god begin to grind exceeding small. Three weeks until the first election at the start of Hilary. Four until the second, and five until the final vote. Last man, as it were, standing. The Dean worries somewhat that it might be so.

It transpires that both Frederick and Devin have prepared election flyers. And they make sure no one leaves with out one. Will smiles at Hannibal, who returns his conspiratorial look. And Dr. Du Maurier quietly notes to the outgoing Dean that from behind both Will Graham and Devin Silvestri look remarkably alike in their formal evening wear. Donald looks at her, and sighs.

“I think we had much better dance, don’t you Bedelia? Forget about all this for a while?”

She readily agrees but still leans in to say.

“You will tell him though?”

He twirls her and then sighs again.

“Someone wants him out of the running. And I can’t readily think why.”

...................................

Michaelmas term comes to a close and the bulk of the undergraduates depart. Some post-graduates, post-docs and both junior and senior Fellows stay on, some to withstand the diminished returns of the Christmas fare. Still pleasing of course, but nothing compared to the usual multiple courses.

The Porters scour the whole College and remove all election propaganda for the duration of the vacation, politics being conducive to indigestion as far as the Master is concerned. There is a minor disagreement over the colour scheme for the annual Christmas tree in the Senior Common Room, in the end those in favour of purple and silver win. Numerous presents are clandestinely bought for the Fellow’s ‘secret santa’ and there is much consternation when it is decided that, given recent events, nothing ingestible will be permitted in the exchange.

Hannibal and Will make arrangements to spend Christmas together and take the somewhat daring decision to travel by Eurostar to Paris to spend New Year with Hannibal’s sister Mischa. Bill is prevailed upon to spend said New Year with the dogs to save them from the local kennels, and just who joins him out there in the rather remote fastness remains a matter of conjecture for some time. Though lacy underwear seems to have been involved.

January cometh in. With a raw blow. Hannibal is grateful for both his blue and grey woollen and that it is not his oilskin currently still with the Thames Valley Police. Though now it has been introduced into evidence after the inquest was adjourned? He wonders, just faintly, when, if ever Dr. Hobbs’ coat might come home from the war.

And so the turning of the year is noted. And though there is no family to mark Dr. Brown’s quiet remains, resting still in a cold drawer in the morgue, on New Year’s day the Inspector calls, just to remind herself that amidst the gaiety and festivities this man was killed. Perhaps not intentionally, but here he lies still. And she will do everything she can to see someone answer why.

....................................

 

In College the first evening of the new term one of the Porters catches Hannibal’s attention as he accompanies Will when he departs for the night via the front entrance. 

“Post for you Sir over the holidays. Couple of bits. Will you sign for it.”

They step into the Porter’s Lodge and Will leans against a wall while Hannibal signs the ledger and then shuffles through his mail. He hands a large envelope with a smudged post mark over to Will. It’s a little oversized and ungainly.

“Hold that a moment, if you’d be so kind, whilst I open these.”

Will takes the envelope and looks idly at it for a moment and then focuses more sharply.

“Hannibal? When I got the copy of my article with your critique in the post, it came in an envelope like this one. I remember the post mark.”

Hannibal raises his eyebrows and then gestures to him.

“Open it.”

Will unsticks the envelope and pulls the papers inside out in a single bunch. They’ve been clipped together in one corner, and like the last time it’s only part of the journal not the whole thing. He turns the pages. His initial article is there in précis, followed by Hannibal’s critique, and then his rebuttal is laid out in full. He reads down it. At first glance there’s nothing he wouldn’t expect. Then he looks more carefully. And then looks up at Hannibal.

“This isn’t the thing I wrote. It’s got bits of an early draft in it. But not the full thing. You saw that. This is like version 1.01 whereas I submitted version 6.04. And this one is unedited too. It’s got some of my personal annotation in it. From my note book. Fuck. Oh shit. Why didn’t the editor catch it? Or..”

He looks at Hannibal in horror.

“If this has already gone to Press it’s a disaster. I’ll look like a petulant fool. It will make it look like I’ve got it in for you too, some of the comments, out of context look terrible. And it will piss Donald off as well. Airing dirty linen in public, especially now they’ve announced the list. People will say I’m trying to undermine your standing. Fuck. I don’t want it, you know I don’t want to be Dean but I don’t want to be forced to withdraw. And. Fuck. They bloody sent it to you! Before it’s due out. Like the last time! Damn.”

Hannibal takes the offending papers from him and reads them slowly.

“I think perhaps it might be time to take this to Inspector Katz. Don’t you? It feels as though the election, or at least the post is somehow tied into all this. And perhaps we might also tell Donald. And contact the Journal. Who is the editor... Oh.. wait...” He flicks to the cover page, which isn’t there. “Ah... Is it Fred?”

Will nods miserably.

“It is. Honestly. I know we don’t get on, but I didn’t think he’d go this far to discredit me.”

“Very well. Donald. And we call the Inspector from the Lodge and I think ask the good Dr. Chilton to come along too. Yes?”

“I suppose. God. What a mess. I just don’t understand why?”

Hannibal touches him lightly on the arm.

“Not yet. But we shall.”

He reads one of the paragraphs again and quirks the smallest smile.

“Well, Will, even out of context, do you really think I am a ‘right twerp and a pompous berk’?”

Will slumps against the wall of the Porter’s Lodge, observes the Senior Porter’s careful non-expression of humour, knows how fast a rumour like this will travel, nothing faster than the speed of light except College gossip, and groans.


	11. Chapter 11

Will stands on the apex of one of the higher ridges of the ridge and furrow field that was once part of the holdings of a medieval village, long since vanished, stones reused and just these regular earthworks to bear witness to the past. From where he is standing he can just see one of the chimney stacks of his house. The dogs mill around his feet, occasionally racing away and then with a feint and shift returning to him as though expecting acknowledgement or reward. His abstraction tends towards not quite paying them the attention they require, eventually leading to a barking contest.

Will slowly comes to himself and shepherds them home, detouring enough to walk along the sunken green lane that leads to his approach, past the gravel standing where his car is usually parked, and then over the stream. He doesn’t look, though the flow is dark and fast with winter melt. As he gets closer to the house he can see that the curtains in the kitchen have been drawn back. It means Hannibal is awake even if he might have decided to make coffee or tea and then go back to bed. Will sighs. He can’t help but feel he’s a centipede waiting for multiple shoes to drop. Soon.

................................

Hannibal stands next to the phone located by the stairs and debates the risk of answering it at this hour of the morning. He could legitimately and truthfully claim to have come out to Will’s house out of concern for his well being. When the bell has rung four times he takes a deep breath and picks the receiver up.

“Will Graham’s phone. May I help?”

“Hannibal? It’s Bill. I just had the Sergeant on the line looking for Will they want to talk to him again. Is he there?”

“Out with the dogs. Are they going to come out or do they want him to come in?”

Bill laughs a little.

“This afternoon he said. He’d like Will to come to Kidlington again. Should I call that lawyer?”

“Chiyoh? Why not. She could come earlier, join us for lunch.”

Bill pauses a moment, and then slowly says.

“That sounds like a plan. Yeah. That’s good. Ok. I’ll see you a bit later then. You’ll tell Will?”

Hannibal hears the outer door of the mud room open and then close a few moments afterwards.

“Bill if you hang on, I think he’s just come in.” He raises his voice. “Will? Will, your father is on the line.” He waits a moment and thinks he hears agreement. “I think he’s coming. I’ll just check. I’ll see you later Bill. And don’t worry.”

Bill snorts and Hannibal rests the receiver on the ledge and goes down the final flight of stairs and across the minuscule hall through the propped open door into the kitchen. Will is there towelling dry the feet of one of the dogs.

“Hey. You’re up and about. Wanna help?”

“I’ll take over if you like. Your father is on the line.”

Will brightens and hands Hannibal the towel as he passes and offers him a small kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t let Buster fool you, he’s already been dried and given a treat.”

Hannibal smiles. Such a canny pup he is too.

For the next few minutes he hears the murmur of Will’s voice from the floor above and hopes that Will won’t waiver in his intent. When he comes back into the kitchen he smiles a little.

“Sergeant Crawford told dad they found Matthew Brown’s briefcase in his car and forensic have now been over it. They want to ask me about a few things.”

“I told your father we should ask Chiyoh to join us for lunch and accompany you. I’ll ring her shortly.”

Will turns the corners of his mouth down a little. He sits in one of the armchairs next to the Rayburn and holds a hand out to one of the dogs. She leans on him and lets him scratch at her ears and neck.

“Still think it’ll all hold together?”

Hannibal nods and turns to flip the dogs’ towel over the wide handle of the cooker’s oven and spreads it out to dry. He washes his hands and then fills the kettle and sets it going.

“I do. And now. May I offer you some breakfast? And then I think we have just a little time before we put the first part of the plan into play.”

Will looks up at him across the room.

“How much time?”

“Maybe twenty minutes. I think there’s a lot we might manage in twenty minutes. Don’t you agree?”

“If we both eat cereal, we’d have maybe forty minutes.”

A smiles spreads across Hannibal’s face.

“My lovely Will, have I told you how much I like your thinking?”

Will smiles.

“Not what you said last week.”

“Yes. Well. A man may change his mind. Cereal?”

“Please.”

..................................

Inspector Katz frowns over the contents of Matthew Brown’s briefcase and then grimaces at Zeller and her bagman.

“You called Will Graham in right? And you’re sure about the prints on the emails? How many?”

“Prints or emails guv?”

She frowns some more, a little crease between her eyes, and Zeller shrugs, and makes a kind of so so gesture with his hand. He passes her the summary and she nods at him to go on.

“Six emails, well, fifteen, but in six threads. And there’s the victim’s prints on all of them, and two other lots on five of them as well. On the briefcase itself? Just Matthew Brown’s. The briefcase was in the boot.”

She casts her eyes down the page and then nods again briefly.

“Jack?”

“Ok. So my theory is that Brown handled the emails, showed at least one and possibly two other people some or all of them and then stuffed them back in the briefcase. Locked it and then took it out to the car. He was on his way back towards the house when he was coshed, not on his way out to the car.”

“Yeah. All right. So how did Hobbs pick up his coat after that?”

Sergeant Crawford chews on his lip.

“I see the problem. Ok. How about this. Brown shows the emails to someone, or multiple someones, he goes out to the car to dump his bag. He comes back into the house and hangs his coat up. Maybe this was sufficiently early in the evening that he didn’t get too wet? Maybe he just carried it because it had his keys in it. He footles around inside for a bit and then when he leaves it’s started raining and he puts what he thinks is his coat on. And someone thumps him one and it all becomes a bit moot for Dr. Brown. Hobbs meanwhile grabs Brown’s coat. He’s looking to find a lift and then realises not only does he not have his own coat he’s got his colleague’s, and yes, very fortunately for him with the car keys inside. Then he finds the body, has a panic, and scarpers. And we know it wasn’t him because who ever it was must have brought the wood back to the log store later after the last lot was brought in to the kitchen before the end of the night. At about three?” He looks up at the timeline that now extends across three boards in Inspector Katz’s office. “Yeah. Three. And then Dr. Bloom and Dr. Graham both brought in wood in the morning. So, it has to have been someone with access to the woodstore between three and six thirty. Did I miss anything?”

His boss smiles.

“Cake for you Jack. All right. So. We have that nice tight time frame now. Three to six thirty. Discounting all the students who have we got left in the frame? Dimmond is out, he was already on his way to the main road. Hobbs was taking the cowards way out, I know, harsh but true. The Dean? Dr Du Maurier? Dr. Lecter? Dr. Graham? Dr. Chilton? Dr. Bloom? We might be able to exclude the excitable Fred. There were a lot of other live bodies in that room that night. And lots of dogs.”

“And the old Prof?”

“The Dean got him sorted out. So. He effectively wrote his alibi for him. And either the kiddies, sorry, that’s Will Graham’s fault, in the living room or the Dean in the kitchen would have seen and heard him leave the house. He’s a bit unsteady. And I don’t think he’s got the strength for it either. So, not Professor Verger.”

The three colleagues hum a little. Inspector Katz runs a hand through her hair and then pulls a scrunchy from a pocket and ties it up in a messy bun. She hands him the list. He scans it and sighs. She smiles a little tightly.

“All right. I’ll see Will Graham later on. You following up on the rest Jack?”

“Ma’am.”

....................................

 

Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier shifts the twisted rope handles of her shopping bag from one hand to the other and checks her watch. She could just grab a small glass of something at Malmaison before making her way back to college. She spends a moment or two whilst she considers her afternoon arrangements. And whether a quarter bottle of prosecco might impinge on them in any way. Satisfied that there is nothing that might be unduly influenced thus she makes her way past the city library, crosses over the road at the pelican crossing, and walks towards the restaurant in the old prison quarter.

She settles into a booth and nurses a tired foot. Certainly the centre of Oxford is small but the back and forwards between several shops in search of an elusive quarry has rendered her weary. She glances idly round and then draws back into the dimly lit recess of her table. 

Just along the row of tables and chairs, but on the opposite side she can see a table seating five. They look to be already well into a meal, perhaps a slightly early lunch. Hannibal and Will she recognises easily, and she thinks the older man might well be Will’s father. Of the two women, both of whom have their backs to her, she has no knowledge though they seem to be intimate enough with one another. The group is friendly and she has a moment’s pause when she considers the manner of their interactions. Certainly there is something a little secretive about their bearing.

When a round of drinks comes to their table she happens to catch one of the women turn a little in her seat. The lawyer. From the inquest. The one who wasn’t required. Then at least. Oh. Perhaps this is some further worry. She watches for a little longer. She can just see Will’s face, where Hannibal’s looks remarkably blank as he is wont to do when he is being obstructive or intentionally careful, Will looks cautiously pleased. Perhaps the lawyer has brought happy news or good advice. Perhaps the best way for her to find out is to ask. She watches a little longer and is further surprised by the arrival of Freddie Lounds who slides in beside Mr. Graham and is greeted favourably by the rest of the party. Fascinating.

Her own order arrives and she decides to defer the enquiry. After all Hannibal alone is much easier to prise open. With this un-certain group? She is not sure if even her fishing skills are equal to it.

.................................................

Sergeant Crawford walks slowly up the steps of the Kidlington building. Near the top he turns and looks at the greenery that fronts the building. Defensive planting is still fashionable in some circles. He wouldn’t want to tangle with the holly or the gorse or the berberis. The case too is thorny. And right now? Not much further on. Perhaps his boss will have done better with Dr. Graham.

As he walks along the corridor to the tiny cubby hole he calls an office attached to Inspector Katz’s room he can hear voices. All female. He knocks on the door.

“Ma’am?”

His boss smiles at him, opposite her in the almost comfortable armchairs are two women, both well dressed and composed.

“Jack, come in. Let me introduce you. This is Ms. Chiyoh, Dr. Graham’s lawyer. And Ms. Lecter is Dr. Lecter’s sister. Also a lawyer but in Brussels and Paris. EU law and the like.”

Both the women stand and offer a hand which he shakes readily, one after the other, long, cool fingers clapped in his big paws, possibly overwarm too. He takes up his usual lean against the long table. For his boss to have invited the women into her office where all the stuff is up on display? Means something’s afoot.

Jack looks at his boss expectantly, she nods to Ms. Lecter who hands him over some papers. He reads them through and then again and then looks at her carefully.

“Is it all right if I say bloody hell. Ok. I get it. You couldn’t come in before now. But no hints even?”

She smiles at him.

“And exactly how long would my brother’s relationship with Will Graham have remained a secret if they had? Yes. I thought so. Thank you for being honest.”

Jack glances at his boss, she’s still looking pleased.

“Ms. Lecter, Do please go on. Tell my bagman the rest of the plan.”

Mischa Lecter smiles again.

“Obviously we’ve looked at the ramifications for Hannibal and Will, and we think we’ve got it all tied up with pretty paper and a nice bow. Even the Archbishop back in the US chuckled when I told him. To be sure he’s got a soft spot for Hannibal, but he could see the point. The Dean is over the moon. But, more importantly, for you it means you can now discount them, they are in effect each other’s alibis, and yes, we know that’s only their word. But, if they’re not in the frame you’re reduced to, what, four potential suspects. And we think we’ve got some leverage with them.”

Jack slowly nods his head.

“You know where I’ve just been?”

Mischa nods and then waggles her head a little.

“I know you’ve just seen the Dean, he rang me as soon as you arrived in the Porter’s Lodge. One of his men let him know you were on the way. He guessed it was about Brown’s bag, we’d all already talked about it. Well, not the bag. About the emails. Donald was very annoyed with Matthew Brown. Will is something of a pet project for him and he didn’t like the stirring. Brown showed Donald them earlier that evening.”

She indicates the folder on the Inspector’s desk with her chin. Jack interrupts.

“Not all of them though. His prints weren’t on one lot.”

Mischa nods.

“I know. Well. I don’t know. But we’re 90% sure there’s something else at play. It’s not about Matthew’s attempt to undermine Will, or at least it’s not only that. There’s the Dean’s job too. We think that’s the key.”

Beverly grins at Jack.

“You’re going to love this. They’ve got a plan to force the killer to show their hand. Even better? Freddie Lounds is playing ball, she and Bill Graham? Thick as thieves. Tell him the best bit.”

Chiyoh looks sombrely at Jack Crawford.

“Will Graham doesn’t know.”

....................................

In the Senior Common Room the major players gather round to hear the results of the first ballot. The room is crammed out, everyone entitled to vote and not a few besides have squeezed their way in. Two of the Fellows have even contrived to sit in the unlit grate of the great stone fireplace. The almost certainly Jacobean panelling is rubbed by shoulder and knee as everyone endeavours both to fit and to hear.

The Master clears his throat.

“My dear Fellows, Ladies and Gentlemen and all who are heregathered. Rather unusually, and indeed the Proctor and I could find no previous example in the Council minutes, there is a draw. As it is only between two candidates, it matters not as it might. So. For the second round of electoral lot the names going forward as minuted by the College Council not five minutes ago are..”

He pauses a moment to ensure that everyone is waiting upon his every word.

“Frederick Chilton and William Graham. The usual second round being obviated, we shall proceed to a final ballot two weeks hence. And now I’d appreciate a rousing cheer for our gallant exitees, and for those who progress. Dean?”

The outgoing Dean turns to face the assembled throng.

“Hip hip..”

He’s answered readily enough and everyone manages the two repeats. Then, excitement mostly over, the camps divide into uneven and unequal sides and many decamp the SCR ready to gossip with their cronies about the surprise turn of events.

Hannibal turns to Will and pulls an imaginary forelock. Will rolls his eyes. And then deals with numerous congratulations and well wishers. Hannibal manages his not small party of commiserators and appreciates perhaps most of all the Master’s clap on the back.

“Thank you Hannibal. Your help has been valued and noted too.”

.....................................

“What did Inspector Katz say?”

Will lies back against Hannibal. The bath is something of a squeeze for the two of them, but the boiler is generous and the window provides a moonlit view across the fields towards the abandoned village and the curve of the river beyond. There are willow marking the bank, recently given a hard pollarding and making a stark skeletal line against the sky.

“She showed me some emails Matthew sent during the long vac. He’d printed them out. I guess he showed them to someone or maybe more than just one person the night of the party. From something Donald said I think he might have been one of the people. One of the email back and forwards was to me. But the others were to other people in the College. Inspector Katz said there were fingerprints on them, I think she was waiting to see if I’d say it was me. But I’d only seen the ones I’d actually received. The others were mostly to Donald, three of them. And one to Alana and one to Fred. I don’t know who handled them. She didn’t say. I don’t know. The ones to Donald were basically about the one to me. The one to Fred, who was supervising his work, was a bit of a mix, stuff about me, but other stuff to. About his research. And about collaborating with Barney and Alana.”

He pauses and Hannibal runs a light hand through his hair.

“Yes? Go on?”

“The other ones to Alana were odd. They had a lot of the sort of stuff you’d expect if you were planning on collaborating, but they were also a bit snide in places, like he didn’t think much of her recent work. Derivative was a word he used. It was just a bit off, you know. But the reply was friendly enough. And it seems like maybe they talked between a couple of the exchanges. But I can’t think why he thought it worth printing out, let alone showing to anyone.”

Hannibal doesn’t answer the question implicit in the lift of his voice.

“And what did she say on the call this evening? Had she changed her tone?”

“She was fine earlier. It felt like she genuinely was trying to puzzle it all out. Like when a few jigsaws get muddled together and you just can’t quite work out which pieces fit with which picture. Too many edges. Too much middle.”

“It’s a satisfying analogy. Did you share it with her.”

“She went a bit quiet. Said she might have at least three she was trying to complete. But she understood what I meant. Said I’d try and help her at least turn all the pieces up the right way. She was funny this evening. I think Chiyoh and Mischa cheered her up. Oh and Donald called her about the vote. So she sent her congratulations, to both of us. I think she was entertained.”

“I’m glad we are amusing her.”

“Might be the only thing that is. You know Molson is worse?”

“Bedelia said pneumonia? Or did he pick something up in hospital?”

“Might be MRSA. Or something like it. Dad’s going to go see him tomorrow. You know it means he didn’t vote.”

“Ahh. And to think I might not have suffered such an ignominious defeat.”

Will manages to half turn in the bath and look at Hannibal.

“Do you really mind?”

“Not in the slightest. I only agreed as a favour to the Master. And if you are elected we shall have yet another set of rooms to enjoy.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I think you wouldn’t have me any other way?”

“I think that’s unfortunately true.”

.............................

 

Beverly Katz sits in her office and manages not to swear out loud. What’s going on in her head should stay there. She knows it. God, her boss though. What a prick. Two more weeks. And despite Jack leaning hard, and despite the cunning plan concocted by the lawyers, Freddie, Bill Graham and Hannibal Lecter too, and despite how all it will take is just a small nudge for the whole thing to topple, despite all that, it could still go either way.

She does wonder what Will Graham will say when he finds out that one of his jigsaws is a two sided one. Where he knows the picture on one side and thinks the back is simple blank card. Ooh boy! Well, with any luck she will be there to see it. If as they all seem to think the final two parts of the puzzle will fall into place once the election is done.

She looks at her watch. Not even eleven. She could go home. Watch a box set. Eat something cooked at home for a change. Maybe put the washing machine on, run a load or two. She debates the moment, then gets up and pulls her coat and scarf on. She turns off the lights and closes and locks the door behind her.

Yeah. Home. Just for a change.

........................................

Bedelia sits in the Dean’s lounge drinking a rather good port.

“You spoke to the police today?”

“I did. Porters tell you? Thought so. Good.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Those ruddy emails of Brown’s. About Will. I told you back in the summer. And the ones he sent to Will. And some to Fred and Alana.” 

Bedelia takes a sip.

“I feel rather left out.”

He smirks and reaches out and pats vaguely in her direction.

“For God’s sakes, don’t be. Total pain in the arse. Just confusing things farther. Casts us all in a bad light to some degree. Will for his alleged behaviour, me for colluding with him. Alana for doing god knows what, defending Will I suppose. And Fred, possibly for not being Will.”

They drink in companionable silence of a few moments. Wood on the utterly illegal log fire settling with a few sparks in the fireplace situated at an angle between their two chairs.

“I saw Will and Hannibal in town today. With the lawyer. And Will’s father. And rather oddly Freddie Lounds.”

Donald looks at her in surprise.

“In town. How very peculiar. That seems unlikely. I suppose Will was called in too, maybe took a lawyer. Can’t be too bad, he came to the vote didn’t he.”

She eyes him over the rim of her glass.

“Donald? You are a terrible liar.”

He blinks rapidly at her.

“Am I my dear? To what end do you suppose?”

She looks at him meditatively. And then her eyes widen.

“Good god. How very astute of them. What else have they in mind?”

He closes his eyes.

“You know what Howard Carter said when he looked inside the tomb of Tutankhamen?”

She pauses, she does know, but he wants to say and she wants to let him.

“Go on..”

“‘Wonderful things.’”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW in several places

Hannibal manages Will’s tie as he grumbles about the constrictions that men impose upon themselves. 

“Stupid things. They’re stupid. And I don’t want a history of neck gear, thanks.”

“I think you dress up well though.”

“Yeah? Maybe. Doesn’t mean I entirely see the point. It’s only dinner.”

Hannibal smiles. It’s a tradition of the candidates for the Dean’s position to host a formal in College for all the voters. Perhaps as a way to take the measure of the man before he is elected. Tonight it is Frederick’s turn. At some point in the eighteenth century it was established that the hosting would be accorded by alphabetical order by surname rather than title or academic honours, this being an unusually egalitarian thrust in an otherwise hidebound set of rules and strictures.

“Nice of Fred to have the after-party.”

“Perhaps not entirely altruistic?”

Will shrugs and stares in the mirror, a faint crease between his brows. He adjust his bow tie with a finger inside the band.

“Doesn’t matter. Still nice. Means people can invite friends and so on. I like that. Less stuffy. If it was just the Fellows? God.”

“I think you are just pleased because it allows you to invite your father?”

Will grins.

“Not just dad. Freddie will enjoy it too! And I’ll have a good laugh at Donald dancing with her and shocking all the stuffy gits off the College Council.”

“And shall you be persuaded to dance with me?”

He circles Will’s waist from behind and rests his chin on his shoulder. It’s not quite a perfect fit, Hannibal is not much taller than Will but they shift a little and make do.

“Don’t you want to save it up just a little longer? It’s only another ten days until the election? Seven until my dinner?”

Hannibal sighs and kisses him just behind the ear.

“You’re right of course, but I find myself impatient.”

Will turns his head a little to kiss him in return.

“I’ll dance with you later. Here or in College. Are you coming back tonight?”

“I should probably stay in College. I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

Will turns and kisses him more fully. Then twists so he can put his arms round Hannibal. 

“What do you want me to do. I’ll come back here, or stay with you. Whichever you prefer.”

“I’d prefer not to be parted from you, you know that. What about the dogs?”

“Actually Alana offered. In case I was going to stay with dad.”

Hannibal frowns very slightly, just a small tightening around the eyes. Will watches him.

“You’re not jealous are you? She loves the dogs. Dad’s always joking she wants Winston. I think she just likes the fun without the responsibility. She’s always popped by. She’s been great.”

“How do you think she will take the news?”

Will shrugs.

“Don’t know. I guess it might depend on the election. I know she and Bedelia had a long discussion with the Council about the Deanery. I’m hoping they’ll both see this as a step forwards. You know? If you challenge one bit of the edifice then other bits might crumble?”

“Only if Fred loses.”

Will smiles.

“And me so charming and so good at winning others round.”

Hannibal kisses him again.

“Hmmm. I find myself surprisingly in agreement. Now. Are we going to leave and be on time, or shall I take you back to bed and arrive in time for the after party with some excuse.”

Hannibal laughs as he watches Will seriously consider the matter and then come to the conclusion he can’t possibly miss his direct rival’s formal dinner. He kisses him again, and gently pulls away.

“I think, my Will, you should arrange for Alana to see to the dogs.”

They are still almost late.

...................................

After the dinner and after-party has concluded and everyone has agreed that Frederick has managed a reasonable job of the hosting and the speechifying, a few perhaps selected people make their way to the Dean’s lodge for the post-after-party.

Donald puts on some music, a selection from his drinks trolley is offered and accepted, and small groups huddle and gossip with one another. He and Freddie continue their intentionally scandalising dancing.

Will is still somewhat chagrined about the episode with the journal and intensely irritated by the various recent occasions when he has entered a room in College where some of his colleagues have been gathered and they have all gone quiet. When he leaves Hannibal talking to Anthony in the living room he joins a small group in the kitchen to top up his drink and he is almost relieved when Garrett asks him.

“What did happen? I know we’re not supposed to ask but Will? Surely you think more of your colleague than to..”

It’s Frederick who interrupts with a raised hand and an audible sigh.

“Not Will’s fault. Not at all. Someone sent me the version you saw. I’ll admit one of my students compiled the piece and I should have checked it through more carefully.” He glances at Will. “If Will said any of those things, I’m sure they were meant in jest.”

He sounds determined and nods at Will. Will sighs, almost as audibly as Fred had done.

“I made some notes on Hannibal’s review. Of course I had no idea anyone would even see them, though I showed him them and he was mostly amused. I think. He said he was.”

Garrett frowns.

“But who would send them to Fred?”

“Well. I don’t know. Someone sent the early rushes of the full piece to Hannibal as well. He only didn’t see them when they arrived because he was away over the Christmas vacation.”

They hear the front door bell ring in the hallway and Fred continues.

“The version I got was sent on a flash drive. I did think it was a bit odd at the time, but well, there you are, not everyone likes email. And I had to give the drive to Donald. In case there were prints. Though honestly I’d be amazed if there were.”

Will frowns at him.

“I didn’t know he was taking it that far? I mean. It’s poor behaviour on someone’s part but really? He gave them to the police.”

Fred frowns back at him. A small crease of concern.

“I thought you knew? Donald had some idea that the election, Matthew’s death, the journal articles, and Molson’s poisoning are all connected in some way. He was checking on a loose end.”

The frown on Will’s face deepens.

“I don’t think I understand how they can be. I mean. I know it was my house, and my article, and..” He stops. “Yeah. Ok. I do see. I just don’t like it.”

Outside in the hallway Donald answers the door and Beverly Katz hands her coat over to the Dean and smiles.

“Are you sure this is all right? I don’t want to cramp anyone’s style..”

“No, no, not at all. I’m glad to have you here. Have you got them with you?”

He watches the expression on her face as she nods. It’s a risk. For them all. But something has to shift. And for sure he’s a risk taker, has been all his work and life. But so is she. And she promised the cold corpse of Matthew Brown that she would do her best.

“Got an opening?”

The Dean nods.

“I’ll make it obvious. You won’t be able to miss it when it comes.”

“Ok then. Later? Can I at least get a bit of party in first?”

Donald’s smiles.

“I think that sounds an excellent idea. Oh. Do you dance?”

“I could be persuaded.”

...................................

In the living room of the Lodge the chairs and tables have been arranged to leave enough space to dance and to create suitable groupings for those who wish simply to watch.

Hannibal and Will find themselves on the edge of a small party and Hannibal leans in towards him.

“I had not expected the good Inspector here tonight. Nor that she could dance.”

Will smiles. “Maybe that’s why Donald asked her. Though that seems a bit unlikely. Interesting all the same to see her off duty.”

“I spoke to Anthony. He is willing and secretly rather pleased. I think he’s been looking for an opportunity such as this.”

Will huffs a small laugh.

“Well good then. And he’ll keep it quiet until after?”

“He’s promised. I did request it of him before I explained. Three days after the election. The Saturday. I think he did feel that Sunday evensong might be pushing it a little.”

Will laughs out loud and then looks around to see who is near. He lowers his voice.

“I asked Alana. That’s all fine. She was completely happy to do it. And I primed dad to say I was staying with him if she mentioned it in passing.”

Hannibal smiles.

“Perfect. All out stars are aligned.”

Will doesn’t look at him, but also smiles.

“Some of them will always be the same now. I think I’ll ask Freddie to dance. I asked her if she’d come to my after party thing. But she can’t make it. She said she’d come to the election one.”

Hannibal nods. And quietly says.

“Well, if you’re going to dance and not with me I shall ask Bedelia.”

The music changes and both of them approach their respective hoped for dance partners. Inspector Katz they note has been asked by Fred and she makes a gallant hand of it.

Half way through what might generously be called a medium paced waltz all the room hears Frederick say rather loudly.

“But that’s appalling! What could he hope to achieve by that! Was it to disrupt the election?”

The Inspector murmurs something in reply. And Frederick stops dancing.

“No. No. That’s awful. That’s several reputations put at risk. I’m shocked. Shocked and appalled. Have you told the Dean?”

Donald approaches the record player and turns it off. There’s an awkward pause and quiet.

“Inspector Katz? Frederick?”

She looks between the men and then around the room.

“Ahh. Well I hoped not to do this here. I’d, well, never mind.”

The Dean walks steadily towards her.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said. But I got the prints back from the SOCOs on the journal and that flash drive you asked about.”

Frederick looks at her and then at Donald and then turns and looks at Will.

“I’m sorry. Really. Tell him.”

Inspector Katz looks at Will.

“The article that Dr. Lecter was sent had your prints on of course. And the Dean’s. And Dr. Lecter’s.”

Will nods.

“Well sure. If the original person who sent it wore gloves.”

“The envelope just had yours and Dr. Lecter’s.”

He shrugs. And she looks a little sad.

“The flash drive had Dr. Chilton’s on and one of his student’s. Not the Dean’s as Dr. Sutcliffe was rather careful once he knew there was a problem. And it had a partial, of Dr. Lecter’s.”

Will shrugs again. Hannibal stands a little closer to him.

“Well of course, Hannibal handed me the envelope. But like I said if he wasn’t wearing gloves..” he trails off.

Frederick looks harder at Will as if to make him see. The Inspector glances at Hannibal, now standing right beside Will.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re friends. I imagine that no one expects the sides of a drive to be dusted, or even the bit that gets inserted.”

Will frowns and then turns and looks at Hannibal.

“Why would your print be on the drive? Why would.. Oh. You saw the notebook. You did see it. I showed you when.. Oh. Oh. My. God.”

Hannibal holds a hand out as if to rest it on his arm and Will takes a sharp step back.

“Don’t. Just. Don’t. Fuck.”

He looks around the room and then turns on his heel and is gone.

There is uproar.

..................................

Will walks across the Quad, his mind racing. He dashes a hand across his eyes. God. How could he have been so stupid. What was he thinking. Maybe this is some kind of revenge. Or reckoning. Or something. He makes it out of College and walks fast along the street to where his car is parked. He unlocks the door and opens it and then throws himself into the driver’s seat.

He spends a few moments getting his rising panic under control. Eventually he decides he’s calm enough to drive. 

Back in the Lodge the consternation continues until the Dean takes control.

“I’d like to talk to Frederick and Hannibal. Everyone else should go. No Garrett not you. Bill, I am so sorry. You might go after Will? Inspector please will you stay.”

It takes almost a half hour until the three men are left alone with Inspector Katz. As she leaves Bedelia narrows her eyes at Donald but makes no remark. When everyone has gone Donald ushers them into the kitchen and they sit at the small dining table.

Frederick makes a small coughing noise.

“Well I think that went off rather well. Oscars all round.”

Hannibal nods, though he looks unhappy, and Donald smiles tightly.

“It was clear he didn’t know. Nor you. You were convincing Fred. Thank you. Hannibal? I’m sorry, I think it will be a little grim. At least for a little while. Shall you try and talk to Will?”

“Not tonight. Bill will look after him. I hope it will set everything in train though. And by the election? Maybe a little after? We should know.”

The Inspector sighs and twists her hands around on her lap.

“And the rest?”

Hannibal looks at Frederick.

“Fred, I’m sorry, there’s a part of the story you don’t know. I can’t tell you it yet. But I’m enormously grateful. Thank you.”

Fred smiles.

“I was fond of Matthew. He could be difficult. But he was my student. And I hope we get whoever killed him. I hope you know I’m glad to help.”

When they go their separate ways Hannibal returns to his rooms in College and checks both his phone and his email. He can’t decide if it is a good or bad thing that there is nothing from Will. He decides he has to trust to Bill’s tender mercies, though later, much later, when he decides it is too late for Will to think to call he finds it hard to sleep. He thinks he probably deserves it.

........................................

At just before six the following morning there is a knock on Hannibal’s outermost door. He pulls his dressing gown from a hook and wraps it round himself. To say he is under slept is an understatement. He unlocks and pulls the door open and sags in relief.

Will narrows his eyes at him.

“You look like shit. And I’m not sorry. I could have come back last night, but I thought I’d make you sweat it out a bit.”

Hannibal closes the door behind him.

“Did Bill come out?”

“Actually Alana did first because of the dogs. She’s really pissed at you. She’d just left, she wasn’t there when Inspector Katz told everyone, but Bedelia texted her to tell her. Your name is going to be mud in College! Though I expect that’s part of the idea?”

“Bill explained?”

“Uh huh. I can see why Fred was willing and the Dean. And I guess the Inspector was on duty after all.”

“I am sorry though.”

“Yeah? Good. I had a crap few hours. Dad came a bit late because he was making sure Freddie was still on board. I might have cried quite a lot on Alana’s shoulder, poor woman.”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“And have my humiliation be complete? No thanks. I guess that comes later?”

“Can you stand it?”

“If you can, so can I.”

“Together then.”

“Over the cliff edge? Yeah. Together.”

...................................

Over the next seven days until Will’s formal dinner in College the two men are seen occasionally in the same place and there is some gossip that Hannibal is making every attempt to eat humble pie. His motives seem a little unclear, but the College consensus is that it had something to do with the election. Will is treated kindly, and Frederick is treated as something of a hero which he is sleekly pleased about, even if upon analysis there is no real reason why. 

After chapel Anthony removes his surplice and looks at Hannibal with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I’m sorry. I don’t pretend to understand. But I’m assuming that all is well? You don’t want to change anything, I did talk to Will and he seemed to think that everything should proceed as planned? Is that right?”

Hannibal undoes his own cassock and then hangs it for a moment whilst he adds a pullover and jacket to his ensemble.

“Completely. And I appreciate you keeping your word. Thank you Anthony.”

They continue quietly and once ready for the street Anthony wraps a long scarf round his neck and asks.

“And are you well?”

Hannibal drapes his cassock over his arm.

“I am. Thank you. I admit this is not an altruistic act on my part. How could it be when Will is still suspected. But I am also willing to admit that whoever killed Dr. Brown should not be permitted to either benefit or escape prosecution. Someone had to be willing to stick their neck above the parapet.”

“Well, I’m glad to help you untwist then. Though I recognise the cost.”

.........................................

At Will’s after party Hannibal and he are seen to talk and shake hands. There is a general mood that Will has been magnanimous and Hannibal appropriately penitent, though there may be some who are volubly more than a little cross with him. The Master though is strangely silent and Bedelia Du Maurier tries more than once to pry it out of him as well as from the Dean.

Both Hannibal and Will are more cautious than ever about being seen too often in each other’s company. And both of them are seen to spend considerable time in various libraries, as well as Hannibal in chapel and Will in the company of his father around the town.

The night before the election though Hannibal arrives a little after eight on the last but one train of the night and walks across the field towards Will’s house.

Will opens the door to him.

“I saw you coming across the second field. It was a narrow squeak. You just missed Bedelia and Alana! They came out to ensure I was all right, ready for tomorrow, coping. All of that. You ok?”

Hannibal hangs his coat on the peg next to Bill’s, he frowns at it for just a moment and then follows Will into the kitchen.

“Have you eaten? Or can I take you straight upstairs?”

Will smiles at him.

“We had a bite, so.. Upstairs. Please. I’ve missed you.”

In the bedroom they both undress and leave their clothes where they fall. They are perhaps both quieter than usual, maybe just a little more tender of each other’s needs. Hannibal kisses Will extensively before pushing him to his front and opening him with both his mouth and hands. He is almost shaking when Will finally pushes him onto his back and then seats himself astride his hips and lowers himself slowly onto him.

Hannibal has to swallow hard at the feeling of Will raising himself up, and then sinking slowly, slowly, down. He tightens his hold on Will’s hips to help shift him around. Gasps. Will begins to stroke himself and then picks up Hannibal’s hand to grasp his cock and tightens their joint grip to establish a faster pace. His breathing increases rate and Hannibal watches him slowly come apart. 

When he finally comes across Hannibal’s chest they are both gasping for breath. Hannibal flips them over and then fucks into Will as quickly and as hard as he can until they are both shuddering and Will is almost desperate before he comes a second time, keening a high almost eerie noise. Hannibal fucks him through the orgasm and Will is almost begging when Hannibal frowns and swears and lifts him with his hands under his arse and fucks him hard enough for the bed to give a warning creak. When he comes, it’s with a long hard moan, and Will manages a tertiary orgasm that leaves him absolutely wrecked and Hannibal utterly spent and sprawled across the bed.

Neither of them speak, just join their hands, kiss one another gently, all lips and tongue and wetness, and then both fall asleep. 

In the morning Hannibal fucks Will again, up against the sink in the kitchen, looking out and down over the garden, whilst the dogs are on the lawn. The side curtains in the kitchen are drawn closed and there is just a sliver of light through a gap that catches and shines on Will’s ejaculate when he comes all over the cupboard doors below the sink. When Hannibal has finished in him he pulls out and then pushes two fingers inside him and holds them there while Will pushes back against them, just a slow grind, too sensitive really and on the edge of pain. And Hannibal holds him close while he moves on his own accord finding his way to another kind of release. He sighs.

Eventually he slows without coming a second time and turns back into Hannibal’s arms and they hold it each other in the late dawn light. Breathing each other in. Will opens his mouth when he kisses Hannibal and pushes in with his tongue, licks hard against him. He holds the back of Hannibal’s neck with one of his hands and reaches down and gently fondles Hannibal’s softened cock.

“I’d like just to go back to bed. Please. If that’s ok. Never mind the stupid election. I’d rather Fred had it anyway. I want to take a cup of tea up and read a proper book, and when we’re both recovered I want to use my mouth on you, maybe fuck you for a change, then have you open me up, finger me. Don’t you love that phrase? ‘Please finger me?’ And fuck me til I come again? Until we both can’t talk. Everything? All in one bed? All in one long fuck. God I want to go back to bed with you.”

“And hide?”

“Hell yes. And hide.”

He watches Hannibal’s face and can see that he is slightly tempted, and though he knows they’ll both be sensible, it is a happy brief fantasy.

“I like you fucking me. I like it when you make that little noise and that concentrated look on your face, and then you always look maybe just a bit surprised and you come. I love that. I love that when I beg you to be a little harder or faster you don’t mess around but take me at my word.”

Hannibal kisses him then and Will’s grip gets just a little stronger as he starts to pull more rhythmically on Hannibal’s cock. He widens his own stance knowing that Hannibal won’t be able to resist fingering him again. Reaching between his legs and pushing in. Still with his own ejaculate on a slow slide out to ease the way.

“You tempt me. But I’m not sure I can.”

Will twists a little and gives a sharper tug. “You seem to be doing pretty well.” He kisses him. “On my hands and knees. In the bed. You can get so deep. Laid over my back. I’ll do the work. Please. Hannibal. Please.”

In the bed Hannibal does as he is asked and is shattered when he comes again, Will already spent a second time, barely forming words, just noise.

They wake again almost two hours later and miss breakfast and are forced to drive together to College if they are both to be in time to vote. Whilst everyone shuffles through the Senior Common Room Hannibal is conscious all the while that he thinks he must smell of both sex and Will in equal measure. Will is flushed. It’s likely he is thinking the same.

The vote is counted over lunch and Hannibal takes Will up to his rooms and fucks him again on the too narrow bed and then they stand in the tiny shower and wash themselves finally clean.

In the bathroom Hannibal runs a finger down Will’s face. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to get caught.”

“Just another hour or so.”

Hannibal doesn’t laugh, but he does smile a little.

“My lovely risky Will.”

“You betcha. Come on. Let’s find out if I’m going to be Dean.”

...................................

He is.

By the narrowest of margins. Just a single vote.

....................................

 

Frederick is gracious in defeat still basking in some afterglow at having been seen to be helpful in the eyes of the Dean and Master. And somehow heroic to the College grandees and Fellows. In the afternoon he and Will confer on ways in which they might work together, Fred in effect a subbing Dean. It would suit them both.

Hannibal is seen to congratulate Will warmly and spends the afternoon with Donald in the Lodge. Other members of the College breathe a sigh of relief, one eventful sequence of events now firmly put to bed. And despite all the happenings of the last few weeks there is a feeling that all is now resolved. 

Except of course for the inconvenience of Matthew Brown.

................................................

That evening the Deanery election party is held at the Master’s Lodge. It is as ever a ridiculous affair. Somehow it’s always the event at which most people let their hair down. The election is sufficiently infrequent that no one really expects to see more than two or three in their lifetimes, though this is Molson’s fifth. And everyone takes the opportunity to drink as much of the Master’s decent cellar as he will make available as well as contributions from the College’s collection and the outgoing Dean’s.

Donald pours himself a modest amount and then tops up both Will and Hannibal’s glasses.

“Now this is not a bad year if I say it myself. I’ve got two cases left. I’ll give you the name of my wine supplier. Hannibal I’m supposing you’ll be in charge?”

Hannibal laughs as he turns to Will.

“Donald’s right. We shall have to lay in some decent years. For when your successor is elected! As well as for the more everyday.”

Will smiles a little. At least one of them does the party thing.

“Here or at home?”

“The small room at the back front door might take a few dozen.”

“I like how you’ve plans already to improve the space. Any other demands?”

“I thought the small room might make a good study?”

“What about one of the upstairs doubles?”

Hannibal smiles.

“I think so. Yes. I’d like that.”

Donald grins at him and pokes him in the ribs.

“Freddie on her way?”

It’s Will who rolls his eyes and nods.

“Dad’s bringing her on. We had to wait for the first edition off the press. She should be here just after eleven.”

Donald glances at an ormolu clock on the mantelpiece.

“Half an hour. You ready?”

“As we’ll ever be.”

..........................................

By the time Bill Graham is announced with a widely grinning Freddie Lounds on his arm an awful lot of wine has been consumed. Hannibal and Will have both been careful in what they have drunk. And careful not to get too handsy. Not yet. Not now. Not when they are so close. Donald too has managed to leave a number of barely touched glasses of wine around the Lodge for the look of it.

When Freddie saunters into the crowd she hops up onto an ottoman and shouts to be heard. An almost kind of quiet slowly spreads. The sort you get at parties where there is still talk, and the clink of glass, and laughter in peculiar places. It’s gets a little quieter closer to her when she waves a copy of the Oxford Mail overhead.

“Tomorrow.” She shouts. “Tomorrow! Exclusive to the Oxford Mail. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham talk murder, conspiracy, marriage and the scandal threatening the life of the College!” She waves the copy around and a buzz gradually starts. “Master, Fellows, everyone! You should raise your glasses to raise a toast to the new Dean! Dr. Will Graham and his murder husband Dr. Hannibal Lecter. We’ve got a lovely photo of the wedding certificate and everything! And the happy couple. Donald?”

The Dean joins her on the ottoman.

“Will and Hannibal! The new Dean and his spouse.”

For a second it is like the dark vacuum of space where all noise is absorbed and nothing moves. And then, if the aftermath of Inspector Katz’s fingerprint announcement had been uproar this is like the end of the world. There are cheers, and a toast and then some rapid discussion and maybe one or two angry voices are heard. There’s laughter. Some consternation and alarm and clearly some delight as well. The volume of noise swells and swells.

Hannibal offers Freddie a hand down from her perch whilst Donald leans on Will’s shoulder and steps down beside him. He has a ridiculous smile all over his face. He leans in and whisper shouts to the other conspirators.

“Part three?”

Will nods, takes Hannibal’s hand and kisses it.

“Coming up.”

Freddie glances down at their joint hands and then nudges him.

“I’m loving this. Scandal suits you! I can taste the ad revenue even now. Don’t worry, I covered over your address on the certificate with a big black box. Oh. And by the way. You’re welcome.”

“Let’s just hope it works.”

Hannibal puts an arm round Will and squeezes him a little.

“In every way.”

...................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split the chapter as it got too long! I’m sorry! One more to go!


	13. Chapter 13

In the melee after Freddie’s mic drop Bedelia corners Donald, he takes a hasty gulp of wine and tries for a weak smile. She’s really having none of it.

“Is this what your little scheme was all about? I’m shocked. Shocked and dismayed. He can’t be Dean. Not if he’s married. It nullifies the vote. Really Donald. We’ve tried everything, the regulations can’t be changed.”

He smiles then, much more widely, feeling his way onto surer ground.

“Actually my dear. He can. We’ve had some one look very hard at the original documentation, someone who knows these things. Understands the Latin ordinances. What it actually says as near as dammit is that the Dean cannot ‘be wifed’. The College Council has accepted the interpretation Will and Hannibal have offered. You have to admit, it is rather clever. Hannibal asked his sister to find someone who’s an expert in Constitutional Law. Nice woman Ms Chiyoh. Very imaginative, I think you’d like her.”

He sees the light dawn on her face.

“And because he’s married it avoids the ‘moral turpitude’ clause which would be invoked for someone who was simply a same sex lover? Oh. Wait. I actually saw them in town, at MalMaison. Damn. They’d just got married? I thought Will was looking unusually smart. But I assumed it was some conflab over the case and the suspicions against him. Well. Yes. All right. Though the last ten days must have caused them both a lot of weariness. Oh. Wait. Wait. Oh Donald. Did Will not know about the journal. Truly.” She sees his face. “Oh he must have ached for him.”

Donald smiles at her.

“And do you see how that bit fits my dear?”

She nods slowly and looks concerned, he pats her hand.

“Shall I get you another drink?”

“Several.”

....................................

 

Anthony steadily makes his way round the crowd and asks everyone still standing if they might come to a small celebration for Hannibal and Will at Chapel on the coming Saturday.

“Not exactly a blessing you understand, but a moment to celebrate all together. Something really wonderful.” He smiles at each person he nobbles. “Do let me finally say ‘it’s that kind of party’ and mean it.” He offers everyone a winning smile.

There’s still considerable shock, but the fact that Donald, and Anthony and possibly some others clearly knew seems to dissipate some of the consternation. Though of course a number of people berate both the Master and the Dean over what is seen as subterfuge. 

Garrett takes Fred aside.

“I still don’t see how Will can square this with the journal article. Hannibal made him look a fool?”

Fred smiles. A happy smug little smile.

“You won’t know this. And there’s no reason why you should. The only people who were sent the doctored version of the second article were those who subscribe within the University. The actual article in its proper form went to everyone else. I’m not a total fool. And well done to Will for winning the Deanery anyway. I was willing to risk it, and we knew he would not mind if he didn’t actually win.”

Garrett frowns at him.

“I still don’t see why though?”

Fred sighs as though he’s having to explain some simple bit of doctrinal hermeneutic to an obtuse first year.

“We still don’t know who sent the first article do we? But by showing how it could be done? Well, it was easy wasn’t it? And everyone believed Hannibal had. Including Will.”

Garret frowns again.

“I still don’t get it.”

“Look Garrett. I know you didn’t kill Matthew. But someone did. And we’re going to find out who.”

“And this helps how? I still don’t see.”

Fred grins again.

“You will. Just give it time. It will all make sense. You’ll see.”

......................................

Alana sits by Will in the kitchen and asks quietly.

“Are you sure? He totally abused your trust. I admit I’m a little hurt here, we’ve been friends for a long time Will. I feel wounded by this, I thought you were genuinely upset by what happened.”

He leans a little against her arm as they sit side by side against the table in the Master’s kitchen.

“With the journal? I know. He didn’t tell me. It wasn’t an act Alana, I was utterly unprepared for it. But Hannibal’s worked it all out now. He’s just waiting for one more thing, his sister is coming back Sunday, he says it will all make sense then. I thought we ought to wait to say anything until she’s back but one of the Council insisted we do the whole Chapel thing to make it College honoured. So we had to tell everyone now. Trust Freddie to make a whole performance out of it.”  
He snorts. “She called us ‘Murder Husbands’. That’s pretty funny. I bet that was dad’s idea.”

Alana takes a drink from her glass of wine. She murmurs to him.

“But I thought he was in line for a bishopric? Won’t they quietly retire him or something?”

Will grins again.

“Ok, so a Constitutional lawyer friend of Hannibal’s sister sorted out the College rules, but she’s in Chambers with an ecclesiastical lawyer who looked at the Episcopalian rules in the U.S. and well, there’s a small loophole. They don’t recognise same-sex civil partnerships. But marriages? Since the U.K. legislation changed we didn’t get partnered, we got married, it’s marriage equality, under the law. It might give us the necessary wiggle room. Anyway the Archbishop has read the legal argument Mischa’s friend’s colleague prepared and he’s willing to try it in Synod. If it works it will set a new precedent. Even if the Church Communion closes the loophole? We can still argue we entered into the marriage in good faith. It could drag on for ages. Meanwhile, I can’t lose my job here, Hannibal can’t lose the Chair. And have you heard the detail on the Dean’s thing? It opens up the possibilities for other’s challenges, Bedelia is already talking to the Master! It’s going to the Privy Council!”

She nods and smiles weakly at him.

“Obviously I’m pleased for you. If it’s what you want. But I’m still shocked.”

He watches her walk away and wonders how much of their friendship can be salvaged.

...................................

By the time the end of the evening has rolled around the complicated news has spread. Bill has been out to a nearby newsagents to buy early copies of the Oxford Mail’s morning edition and several people have been seen tapping furiously on their mobile phones. Freddie is like a pig in muck and takes as many selfies as possible with anyone who will stand for it.

Just before three a.m. Hannibal manages to pull Will from yet another conversation. He draws him into the downstairs bathroom just off the hallway where Donald and Bill are both already waiting for them.

“Donald? Bill? All going as planned?”

Donald smiles broadly, all teeth and tie.

“I think it is. I primed Bedelia. She’s a little annoyed with me, so rather than keeping mum, she’s telling everyone about the Council and their forced volteface about the wedding thing. Molson is sparing no one the gory details, he’s got a good line in telling people exactly how to parse the Latin. Anthony has been busy inviting everyone to come on Saturday. Fred has hinted heavily that there’s more to come about the journal. Garret came and sympathised with me! Fantastic. I’m glad the two of you have come to an agreement Will! He’d do well as a second. And if you decide to go? Well, he’d be ready in the wings. Bill?”

“I’ve done the same thing Will was prepped to do. He really didn’t know about the journal but that Hannibal has a plan. Everyone knows what happened at the after-party, Will was genuinely gutted. You can’t fake that kind of carnage. Fantastic! And Freddie has been telling anyone who’ll listen that the story is in two parts and the next instalment is in Monday’s edition. Because the final bit will fall into place on Sunday. When Mischa comes back.”

Will puts an arm round his husband.

“Ok. So now we hold our breaths. And hope. And all right, maybe even pray. Chapel tomorrow and Friday folks? Yes?”

The other three men nod. 

...................................

On the following days, a Thursday and Friday Will and Hannibal are both seen at morning and evening services in Chapel. Hannibal himself takes Evensong on Friday with Anthony preaching to what is for early term, when there are no exams, a surprisingly full set of pews. For once the misericords are actually put to their proper use. 

As per usual when Will attends services he lines up during communion but opts to receive a blessing at the altar rail. He drops down on his knees, with both hands crossed across his chest and head lowered. And as usual when Hannibal walks along the line of expectant worshippers he offers either the host or a blessing to any who approach. When he reaches Will he rests a hand on his head and murmurs something soft. And if there are a few amongst the congregation who think that’s somewhat touching it’s not quite the done thing to remark upon it.

On Saturday after lunch they both go into the Thames Valley HQ out in Kidlington to finalise details with Inspector Katz and Sergeant Crawford.

“Everything ready then?”

Will looks at Hannibal, smiles and takes his hand. He looks back at the Inspector.

“I think so. Oh. Well. We’ve got this thing in College tonight. Will you come? Chapel celebration. I think between Anthony and Hannibal and the Master practically half the University has been invited! Well, maybe just the College and anyone else who lectures in theology. It’d be great if you did. You’d see how everyone is doing. And what they’re doing too. I know we’re waiting for tomorrow, but you never know..?”

Inspector Katz looks at Hannibal watching him. Yeah. She can see it. A certain kind of devoted love. The kind that will risk anything, do anything for the beloved. There can be no question in her mind but that Hannibal Lecter is utterly in love with his Will Graham. To what ends though she has sometimes wondered.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Just tell me time and place.”

........

When Hannibal and Will have gone Inspector Katz looks at her bagman. He looks steadily back at her.

“Guv?”

“I want to know if you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

He scrunches up his nose, looks up at ceiling as he often sees her do, and then sighs.

“Here’s how I see it. I think Dr. Lecter thinks he knows. But he’s setting himself up to prove it. He’s been clever. He’s drawn different people into his plan. Different people know different bits. So he’s also hedging his bets, just in case he’s wrong and someone has played a very close hand.” 

He pauses for a moment or two and she watches him slotting it all together, like a sliding puzzle where all the bits are already there, jumbled up, and you have to slide all the parts piece by piece either vertically or horizontally until you get the picture right.

“He doesn’t know absolutely for sure, but he’s let everyone think he does, he’s just waiting for Ms. Lecter to bring him some final piece.”

He stops again. And then he very, very, slowly smiles.

“He thinks it’s going down tonight? Had he already asked you?”

She nods. From her usually locked top desk drawer she takes out an envelope and flips open the flap and draws out the card inside and hands it over to him. He reads it twice. Then hands it back.

“You’re going to tell me he hasn’t told his husband aren’t you?”

She nods.

“I think he loves him very much, possibly from before he even came to Oxford. I think he’s known there was something in the wind for a while. He told me he had concerns after an incident with Matthew Brown at some conference a few years ago.”

“Did he arrange to take the Chair because of it?”

She quirks a face.

“I asked him that. He smiled and mentioned that he and Donald Sutcliffe go back a long way. The Dean is very fond of Will, but he also loves Hannibal dearly.”

“And someone guessed? Or knew? When he arrived? That there was something between him and Dr. Graham?”

“Someone certainly tried to make trouble with that first article. Put Will Graham off. It’s not the whole bag, but it is a part of it.”

He stands up and goes over to the small window in her office that overlooks the visitor’s car park. It’s not a pretty view but the Sergeant has always found it steady, helpfully boring and predictable.

“And Matthew Brown got caught up in it? Nasty for him. Though from what’s been said he wasn’t above a little stirring either.”

“He wasn’t. But I think what did for him was actually something a little different, though it didn’t help.”

“You think you know?”

“I think I’ve got a good idea. It all comes down to ‘why’, not when, or what, or how, or where. It all comes down to Will.”

Jack Crawford blows out a long breath.

“All right then. I’ll make sure we’ve got some back up ma’am.”

“Thanks Jack. I can always rely on you. If I thought you wouldn’t be recognised I’d get you undercover in a cassock.”

Her Sergeant smiles, rubs an hand over the back of his head, just a little embarsssed, he blushes as he says.

“Bella would love that. She had a thing for that Thorn Birds stuff.”

Inspector Katz laughs.

“We’ll see then.”

.....................................

In the Chapel sacristy Anthony finishes buttoning his cassock and adds a surplice and then flicks a stole around his neck and smooths it down. When Hannibal comes in he hands him the wine and communion bread to be taken to the back of the chapel to be brought up during the offertory. They exchange a few quiet words and Anthony shakes his hand with much good cheer.

Hannibal takes the gilt plate and cup and cruet of water and wine on a small silver tray to the back of the chapel and rests it on the table set aside for such a purpose. Then he goes to join Will at the front of the Chapel in the first of the pews. He reaches past Will to shake Bill’s hand and then stands and leans past them both to embrace his sister. She whispers in his ear.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

He smiles at her as he draws back. She looks at him, concern writ large across her face. She knows that look all too well.

Behind them the Chapel fills. Will had been right, between the Master, the Dean and Freddie Lounds practically all the College has turned out, plus those who teach or research in theology from across the University. As he looks around he catches various people’s eye. And smiles. For all that the service is not quite his thing he knows the meaning it holds for Hannibal. So it matters to him too. 

There’s a brief flourish from the organ, Eldon playing something bright and light and full of merriment. Though Will suspects he’ll revert to his normal choices and choose something darker for the processional at the end. There’s a tinkling of a small bell and Anthony makes his way across the sanctuary and the service begins.

Later everyone will say what a good sermon it was, how apt the readings, how beautiful the choice of hymns. Everyone will say these things and mean them, but it’s not the principle thing that will be remembered. 

The service progresses as all Anglican masses do. People rise to pray, and kneel to reflect, they stand to sing, and sit to listen. The consecration takes place and Anthony invites Will and Hannibal to come forwards first ahead of everyone else. He makes them stand before him, just a step below and holds their joined hands together. He makes some friendly remarks and then turns a little more serious.

“Our church, unlike some others that fully understand what love may be, has not yet managed to see its way clear to such a marriage of true minds as we might find with Will and Hannibal. They truly have begun to blur in love and hope and mutual fidelity. And I hope you think that’s worth celebrating. I certainly do. I’d ask you all to join in a moment’s quiet whilst we thank whatever we understand by the Divine in our lives for the good that is honoured here. For that is what we do. We honour every part of them.” There’s a quiet and then Will leans over and kisses Hannibal gently and it draws a laugh. Anthony playfully bips him. “Too soon! Ha. And may I remind you all that everyone is welcome to come up for a blessing or to receive the host.”

Will and Hannibal turn towards the altar and kneel as Anthony goes back for the communion bread and then brings it forwards. He places a host in Hannibal’s hands and then offers a blessing with a hand on Will’s head. Hannibal reaches across and holds Will’s hands. A moment later Anthony brings back the Chalice and offers it to Hannibal who takes it, pauses, and then slowly holds it up to Will. Will looks at him and just for a moment or two it’s not clear if he’ll take it. But then he does and he slowly raises it to his mouth.

From half way back across the Chapel, there’s a scream. And everyone turns to see Dr. Bloom trying to fight her way along her aisle.

“Don’t Will. Don’t.”

He lowers the Chalice and Hannibal takes it back from him and then drinks from it himself and then turns and stands with Will to face her as she pushes her way into the main body of the nave.

Her face is flushed and tears streak her cheeks as she walks unsteadily towards them.

“You didn’t drink it? Thank god. Oh god.”

Will stares at her, and then at his husband.

“I didn’t. But. God. Hannibal you did! Oh. God. No!”

He grabs his arms. Hannibal raises the chalice just a little.

“From this? I did. But we switched the cruet before the consecration. I’m sorry Alana. That must have been a nasty fright.”

Will stares at him.

“Oh God. We have to talk about these unexpected shocks. You’re killing me! No more. If I tell you I finally find you really interesting will you please stop trying to trample on my heart?”

Hannibal smiles in delight.

“I will.”

Alana stares round wildly and realises that the implacable presence of Sergeant Crawford is right behind her. He says something quietly to her and she slumps and limply lets him pull her down the central aisle to the back of the Chapel where Inspector Katz is waiting.

Anthony recovers something of his sangfroid and places a hand on both their shoulders.

“Well, thank you. I thought we were doing so well. Turns out it was that kind of party. I think, just to be on the safe side, we’ll just share the usual host. Will, Hannibal would you like to sit down so we can get the.” He manages a delicate little cough. “Party started.”

The Dean leads the rest of the communicants and by the time a voluntary has been played with great vigour everyone is ready for the final benediction and processional.

Will is still feeling somewhat shaken, Hannibal perhaps just a little stirred. He holds Will’s hand tightly.

“I’m all right. I really am all right.”

Will can hardly look at him.

“You better be.”

Outside in the cloistered walkway Donald directs them and anyone else who has been asked to make their way to the Lodge. There’s something of a rush.

“Come along folks, I think I might be forgiven for believing that we could all do with a reviving glass of sherry.”

Frederick might be forgiven if he is heard to mutter to Bedelia.

“It better be a large.”

..........................................

In the Dean’s well appointed sitting room more than just the major players take a seat all hoping for some illumination. Donald ropes Silvestri and Matthews in to help with drinks and gradually three of his best bottles of sherry are depleted. Worth it though he thinks when he looks around at the still shocked and numbed faces. The only two who don’t look so battered are Hannibal and Anthony, well, the Dean supposes clerics do hear of so much wickedness and just plain wrong in the exercise of their pastoral care.

He takes a seat, and holds up a hand to bring to quiet the murmuring conversations spread around the room.

“Inspector Katz will be back in half an hour. We can tell you what we can until she returns though none of us I think quite have it all. Though I imagine Hannibal thinks he might. Do you?”

Hannibal looks round at the familiar faces. 

“There are, as I understand, several parts to this, a perfect storm of actions and events, perceptions and beliefs which Matthew Brown was wrecked on, and which our friend Dr. Bloom very nearly managed not to fall foul of.” He sighs. He’d liked Alana, even when he’d begun to wonder and later to suspect. “There are three things that we might say caused this; the first is to do with a possible charge of plagiarism by Dr. Brown against Dr. Bloom. A chance remark by Dr. Hobbs I suspect made her think Dr. Brown had broken his word to keep it to himself. He’d earlier shown her some emails and she may have thought he’d shown those too.” 

He can see Garrett frowning and then his face clears.

“I thought she was talking about that thing to do with Will! I had no idea!”

Hannibal nods.

“As I say. A chance remark. But it compounded something she already feared. When Dr. Brown accused Will of stealing some ideas and using an intimate relationship to do so she’d believed that Will was innocent, in part because she knew it was her who’d taken the relevant materials from his briefcase, and in part because she believed that Will was interested romantically in her.”

Will immediately interjects.

“But I told her the thing with the squirrels was to get Matthew off my back! Oh god. Did she think I meant it. Oh no. That’s terrible. I almost.. well, perhaps not.”

Hannibal makes a face at him and carries on.

“However and this was crucial, Dr. Brown suggested at some point, probably a few months ago, maybe before the Michaelmas term began that he had resumed an affair with Will and that she was being taken for a fool. Alana regularly visited Will, perhaps even had a key to the rooms upstairs, they all work off one. Anyway, that night, she got into Will’s room and I suspect found some suggestion of a planned for tryst. And the following day when the house was empty she found evidence in Will’s room that such a tryst had taken place. I suspect at this point she thought she’d killed Will’s lover and the person who threatened her reputation, standing and whole life.”

There’s a small pause and he checks to ensure everyone is following. Slowly Bedelia nods and asks.

“Go on.”

“Will overheard a conversation of raised voices on the first floor of the house during the evening but didn’t check on who or what was said, he just knew he’d heard a man and a woman, possibly arguing. However, the conversation, between Dr. Bloom and Dr. Brown was overheard, by Professor Verger. He’d been sitting in the wing backed chair looking out over the garden watching the dark and rain. He saw Dr. Brown later in the garden but didn’t know what he’d seen when Dr. Brown went down the garden with someone else and they came back alone.”

There are nods. This bit they know, Donald asks.

“And she just picked up a bit of wood and coshed him one? And what? Brought it back to the log store?”

Hannibal raises a hand a little as if to say maybe.

“She either brought it back later or, when she collected wood in the morning retrieved it in the daylight when she could see what she was doing and brought it in with the other pieces and added it to the pile expecting it to be burned along with all the rest. The thing she didn’t know was that Bedelia was asleep in her car and found Dr. Brown much earlier than she might have expected. It was one of the reasons she collected the wood, so no one else would have to go outside. The later in the day he was found the wider the number of suspects, and also the greater chance that any evidence would be washed away by the rain. I suspect she had a bad fright when she realised Dr. Brown’s car was gone. I think she probably followed him out to ask him for the emails in his briefcase. And then there was the confusion over the coats.”

There’s a collective groan. There’s been a run on the oilskins from Drew’s and half the faculty seem to be wearing them now.

“Four coats. And really the only significant thing was that Dr. Brown accidentally took Dr. Hobbs’ and Garret was left with one that looked very like but was not his own. It did throw us off though because it wasn’t clear if the intended victim was me.”

Fred raises a finger.

“And that brings us to the journal doesn’t it?”

Hannibal smiles at him and Frederick beams, basking in the approval.

“It does. I admit. I still don’t know who sent the first journal in advance of its publication to Will. It could have been Dr. Brown. He was at that conference in Berne where it all began and he certainly warned me off in no uncertain terms. This might have been a follow up. It could have been Dr. Bloom, she was very protective towards Will, and she might have wanted to give him advance notice of this potential threat. Or someone had hinted about our mutual regard and she was queering the pitch.” He smirks a little. “So to speak.”

Will nudges him with an elbow.

“So what were the chocolates all about? I still don’t understand that sequence of events.”

“She was a bit unlucky about that. She’d originally bought them to give them to you, I think to make you a little ill and in need of care. She was very good at looking out for you. And you possibly weren’t quite as distressed about the article as you were supposed to be. Dr. Brown found her leaving them in Bill’s usual room. It’s not a room the dogs usually go in so she probably thought they’d be safe there. Matthew ate at least one. His prints were on the plastic in the tray. Later though, after she’d killed him and it all started to slip sideways she retrieved the box and persuaded Margot Verger to give them to her uncle. Molson, I’m so sorry. You didn’t take them home with you. I think Margot probably brought them round. She’s been questioned, it’s what she says. She thought you wouldn’t remember. In part because you were rather ill.”

“And old, you know. And forgetful. Though I’m sure I did have several whilst I was sitting about in that room.”

Hannibal nods.

“Yes of course. That makes even more sense of it, thank you. And I’m sorrier to say it was us who told her you were still in the house on Sunday when she came back. She might have thought you saw something, and rather than just taking the chocolates back and destroying them she sent them on to you.” He pauses. “Though the timing is very tight. So, she may have seen you on Sunday but been hampered by Fred’s presence.” He nods to himself as if to recognise that this is the more likely scenario.

Fred looks at him.

“And the second article. The one I helped with. Tell them that bit.”

Will rests his hand on Hannibal’s knee.

“Yeah. Go on. Tell us how smart you are. You know you’re dying to.”

“My Will. All right then. This bit gets complicated. There are four parts to it. The first is straightforwards enough though. I knew Will didn’t kill Dr. Brown because when he could have done in that short window of opportunity he was with me, and vice versa. The suspected tryst that Alana discovered was actually between Will and me. Not Will and Dr. Brown. We couldn’t speak of it because it would have cost us both our jobs. I asked my sister to look at all the angles and see which one we could manage. You know a part of that.” 

He puts his hand over Will’s and squeezes. 

“We had to wait four weeks to be able to marry, which is why we had to play for time. Well. All right. I did. At that point we told the police. If they had a leak, neither Will or I would lose our jobs and it also meant we could supply each other’s alibis. Of course the Inspector could have been suspicious of such a convenience but she was convinced by two very sensible lawyers.” He smiles again. 

“So, the second part. Along with the plan to marry I also wanted to convince the guilty party that Will and I had a reason to fall out. I wanted the target taken off Will’s back. We couldn’t get the timings to quite work out though Fredrick was marvellous and did his part. In the end though, it added to the verisimilitude as Will thought that although we had just got married I had thrown him, I believe the phrase is, under a bus.”

“Oh God.” Will says. “Alana came out to the house. I cried all over her. I even said how sorry I was about it at the time. I didn’t tell her about the wedding, though it was a close run thing. Hannibal! Damn. She was furious with you.”

Hannibal nods.

“I know. As you said then, that was part of the idea. So much for part two. Part three was Freddie wonderful Lounds revealing our marriage to all and sundry at the after party. Of course, by then, several people were in the know, but it made me look twice as double dealing. I’d married Will, possibly jeopardised his job, and with the mess of the article possibly destroyed his reputation. Perhaps to make him rather more dependent on me. I gambled it could be seen that way. If you were minded to see such transactions in intimate relations.”

There’s a small silence. It’s just possible that this thought had occurred to others present who are now reconsidering their view.

“And then. Despite my double dealing I still ended up with what Alana wanted. I was married to the newly elected Dean. The Master and Donald were very helpful in letting me stand and go out early in the election, it was another way to make Will and I competitors rather than collaborators. This was another thing for Alana. She and Bedelia have rightly challenged the College ordinances to allow a woman to stand. But second best was to be married to the candidate. Well. Actually not the candidate. The Dean. One of the things my lawyer found is that although the regulations say the Dean can’t be wifed when he is elected, there’s nothing to say he can’t be after he is voted in. When she and Bedelia were going through the papers she worked this out. I think you’ll find that when the nominations were being sought she pushed rather hard for Will although it was known he didn’t especially want the job.”

Bedelia sighs.

“I thought it was because she and Will had some kind of understanding. I hadn’t realised she didn’t know about Hannibal. Oh dear.”

Hannibal sighs.

“I know. Oh dear indeed. And so we come to part four. And that was to use the after election party to convince people I knew more than I did, and that I was simply waiting for some final evidence from my sister, and that we were getting ready to make a revelation in Monday’s edition of the Mail.”

Will squeezes his knee again.

“Fuck’s sake. It could have gone horribly wrong.”

“It could. But we were waiting for it. Or something of the sort. She’d already tried to partially poison you and then kill Molson, so it seemed most likely.”

Donald raises a hand.

“So you did suspect Alana?”

“Not entirely. I’m afraid that up until the service I wasn’t entirely sure. It could have been almost anyone. And the easiest way to get people’s trust is to trust them. I’m afraid I’ve rather abused all your trust by trusting you. But you see, I would have done anything to save Will. And I couldn’t be sure that whoever had acted wouldn’t try again. Especially if they felt thwarted by the election or by Will’s marriage to me, or because they thought he suspected what they’d done, effectively they thought, on his behalf. You see, in her mind killing Matthew Brown made everything all right. Except of course, it didn’t. If she’d kept her nerve though and done nothing ever again we wouldn’t have known. But she couldn’t take the chance. In fact whoever it had been, couldn’t take the chance.”

Donald frowns.

“You suspected all of us?”

“It’s more that I didn’t not suspect anyone. And I wouldn’t take the risk. This has been in the wind for a while. I think the news over the summer that Donald was to retire, plus the matter of Matthew Brown lying about the renewal of his relationship with Will, and the threat to her reputation all conspired to make Alana somewhat desperate. It’s not entirely coincidental I applied for the Chair when I did.”

Will looks at him and slowly says.

“So, when you asked me practically every day for three weeks if I was coming to your inaugural, it was because.. oh. My. God. Bloody hell Hannibal, I told you. After that sodding conference I pined, I bloody pined. You mean.. since then?”

Hannibal looks at him, with a softening in his eyes.

“Before. Three years. More. After that seminar at Georgetown. I waited until the time was most propitious. I knew about the Chair and Fellowship from Donald and then I wrote to him. And you.”

“I thought that was just.. oh. Oh.” He blushes slightly. “Oh I see. Perhaps less classical allusion next time eh?”

They become slightly aware that everyone is listening avidly. Hannibal looks around and blinks.

“So. That’s more or less it I think. If it wasn’t for the chocolates, or the emails, or the poisoned wine I think she might have managed manslaughter as a defence. But for whatever reason in the heat of the moment she did kill Dr. Brown.”

He smiles at everyone.

“And now, if that’s quite enough excitement I think we’ll take our leave. I expect the Inspector will fill in the blanks when she turns up. If she can. Will?”

He holds out his hand and stands and Will follows him as Donald comes to and rushes to open the door for them.

“I hope you understand Donald?”

The Dean smiles.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll still dance at your wedding. In fact, once everyone has recovered that’s exactly what we’ll do.” He looks between them. “I really do understand. I wouldn’t dream of getting between you. I quite believe if Alana hadn’t done it then you might have too!”

Hannibal doesn’t smile.

“For Will? You could be right.”

..................................................

 

Hannibal lets them into his rooms in College and then carefully pulls Will to him. He cuddles him close, and strokes a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t entirely sure and I know your open countenance. It had to not look staged. Who ever it was had to believe I knew and that you didn’t. So that if anyone was to be victimised it wouldn’t be you.”

“Well. I did say I’d follow you over a cliff. And you didn’t actually die! Though I’m not entirely sure our wedding celebration went quite the way we’d originally meant.”

Hannibal tips his chin up and gently kisses along his jaw and down his throat. He undoes Will’s tie.

“My Will, my lovely Will, if I saw you everyday for ever I would remember this time.”

Will kisses him then, and smiles with something like relief.

“So shall I Hannibal. Let’s make it for good reasons.”

..................................................

A little later he says.

“This is really only a large single. We’re going to need a bigger bed. Do you think Donald would let us have one now?”

Hannibal smiles against his hair. And sleeps.

.........................................

 

In the Dean’s Lodge Donald is still dancing.

..................................................


End file.
